


One Weekend

by Mistflyer1102



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Prank Wars, Pranks and Practical Jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-11-26 00:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistflyer1102/pseuds/Mistflyer1102
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>England's coming over for the weekend for a surprise visit and America is thrilled! Unfortunately, Tony the alien is anything but, and has decided that he's not going to put up with the English nation anymore. All Tony really has to do is convince England to stay away for good. No problem, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_“Damn it_ Prussia!  He always cheats…” the words disappeared in a mutter as America settled back on the couch, Tony scooting over to give him more room.  At least the Xbox controller didn’t connect with the TV screen like it did the last time the wily Prussian cheated (it had scared America’s pet cat, Britannia, senseless.   America had spent the next seven hours trying to coax the Scottish Fold out from underneath the couch). 

To mollify his longtime best friend, Tony poked America in the side before reaching underneath the couch pillow and pulling out the cheat guide he’d printed off the Internet.  At America’s confused glance, Tony set his controller out and opened the guide and tapped on the page; it was a command that could immobilize an opponent for five seconds.  An online gamer had created that one, using a back door program that the game programmers had forgotten about.

“Huh, thanks Tony,” America said, grinning nastily as his character returned to the land of the living.  Tony saluted before settling back with his controller and un-pausing his character.  The two were teamed up against Prussia and Denmark, which turned out to be a rather potent combination as the two of them had just recently stopped trying to kill each other before teaming up. 

Tony was quite content with his life with America.  When the nation had found him in 1950, Tony had been quite sure that America was about to throw him onto a lab table and dissect him up (he’d heard all the horror stories from his fellow aliens before making this trek to Earth), but Tony was pleasantly surprised when America brought Tony home instead, insisting that he stay as a guest.  He even pulled strings to let Tony have his starship (and all of its equipment) back from the American government.  America was Tony’s only best friend here on Earth.

Then _he_ came into the picture.

Tony wasn’t quite sure about why or when he started disliking the one called England.  Maybe it was because England and America were still being snippy to each other when Tony arrived, and Tony was the one comforting a hurt/angry/pissed/pining America after almost _every_ world meeting.  After ten to fifteen years of that, Tony had been ready to take his starship over to London, specifically to a certain Englishman’s house, and ‘test’ the absorption rays out, just to make sure the rays worked properly after the repairs (any ‘unfortunate’ side effects were just bonuses).

But then one year, America had come home (a week late with no call home!) all dreamy-like, and Tony learned that he and England were officially an ‘item’ as the humans called it, thanks to the interference of America’s brother (whose name Tony didn’t even bother learning) and the Frenchman that England didn’t like at all and America somewhat tolerated.  Then, to add insult to injury, during one of England’s visits, Tony had been given something that the Englishman cooked, and had spent the rest of the night in pain from his stomachache while England and America did…did whatever _gross_ thing it was that nations with alliances did.

England and France were on Tony’s list now.  Being on Tony’s list was not a good thing. 

A smattering of on-screen explosions reminded Tony that he and America were still in the middle of an engagement against a Nordic nation and a European ex-nation.  America continued muttering swears under his breath as he and Tony navigated the confusing terrain (“This is the last time I let Prussia choose the map!” America grumbled).  As usual, Tony was impressed with America’s extensive vocabulary and for each swear America said in English, Tony mentally translated into his native language.  It was good practice.

Let America’s friends think that Tony wasn’t capable of learning English.  Tony had taught America how to speak Tony’s native language, and so the two of them used it while they were alone.  And it kept England out of their conversations.

Tony flipped the TV screen off when his character narrowly missed getting shot by Denmark, snuck around Denmark, and then sniped Denmark from behind. 

“YES! GOTCHA!” America crowed as Prussia’s character collapsed after being ‘unfrozen’.  “Take THAT!” he cheered while holding a hand out.

Tony high-fived America before going back to stalking Denmark whose character was still disoriented from the previous shot.  Tony let himself relax in the cushions of America’s couch; it was just another lazy Thursday afternoon in Virginia.  The temperature was just right, being close to the beginning of September of election year.  As they did every year, America’s duties usually dwindled to non-existent as the political machine geared up for November.  His boss usually focused less on keeping America busy with foreign and domestic matters and more on winning the next election.  As a nation, America was expected to remain impartial to the candidates, and was usually not an election participant (that one time America tried to run for presidency a couple years ago didn’t and still doesn’t count, and no one can prove that other time when America and Tony were behind the campaign scenes a couple years before that).  Election year meant that America did less traveling outside of the country, and could spend more time doing stuff in general with Tony. 

And since there was less traveling out of country, there was also less of England.

“Ah, come on!” America howled as Prussia killed his character in retaliation for the nasty trick earlier.  Tony moved his character out of sight as Prussia prowled for him, and then sniped Prussia.  Or at least tried to, Denmark was faster and jumped in front of Prussia _a la Captain America_ with a discarded virtual trashcan lid, deflecting the virtual bullet.

As America leaned forward, impatiently waiting for the ten-second-recovery period to be over, Tony heard a familiar trilling tune.  It was the theme song from that TV show that had started sometime earlier that year, the one with the animated ponies (Tony would know, he nearly drove himself crazy listening to it a million times as he reprogrammed America’s cell phone’s ringtones). 

Apparently America heard it as well. “What the hell…?” he muttered as he reached for his phone on the nearby table, putting the game on hold and pulling off his headset (he apparently used that to communicate with Prussia and Denmark).  America picked up the headset quickly and said, “Hang on guys, I’ve got a call coming in,” before putting it back down and studying the caller ID. 

Then he turned to Tony, who blatantly ignored him.

“Okay Tony, I know you don’t like England and that you like reprogramming my phone, but _My Little Pony_ is a strangely appropriate ringtone for Arthur,” he said, looking impressed at Tony, who turned and beamed.  “Just don’t tell Artie I said that,” he mumbled before pressing the ‘Call’ button on his iPhone.  “Arthur! How’re you doing?” he asked, way too chirpy to be innocent.

Tony couldn’t hear England’s response, but then again, he didn’t want to.  Ignoring the coil of irritation in his gut, Tony reluctantly paused his portion of the game as he listened to America groaning at something England said.  But he definitely perked up when America let out a squeal of delight.  Just to cover up his interest, he picked up the cheat sheet and pretended to be reading it.

“So how long are you gonna stay…oh, I see…But you’ll be here tomorrow at least, right?  Awesome!  Tell Mattie I said hi…no, Tony won’t be mean and he did _not_ steal that favorite teacup of yours last time, you just misplaced it,” America said, rolling his eyes.

_Silly America, of course I stole that limey’s teacup.  Don’t look under the patio if you don’t want to see its final fate._

Tony smirked to himself.  The blue flower-patterned teacup had met a rather dismal fate after an unfortunate encounter with America’s favorite Mazda (not that Tony had been throwing pottery everywhere on purpose, he’d just been testing the balancing abilities of Earth cookware on the house’s roof), and was now resting in peace under the patio with the numerous teacups and the one teapot that the stupid limey brought over the years.  There was a crack under the patio that only Tony knew about, and America was too oblivious to find.  The teacup graveyard if you will.

“Uh-huh…okay, see you then!” America said cheerfully, and then murmured a fond good-bye in some language that Tony didn’t quite recognize before hanging up. 

Call over; Tony prepared to begin the game again.

“Hang on Tony,” America said before putting the headset back on.  “Hey Prussia, Denmark?  Can I call a rain check on this match, I’ve got a visitor coming tomorrow and need to clean up…yeah, yeah Prussia, relax.  _Call of Duty: Modern Warfare_ is coming in the mail, I also got _Black Ops_ coming _…_ yeah, yeah, I know, I’m unawesome for cutting the game short, but you know how nitpicky Arthur can get…yeah…”

 _Oh no.  That limey had better_ not _be interfering with MY America time…_

Tony stopped pretending to be doing anything except staring at America when America finally put the headset down and shut down the Xbox.  In fact, he didn’t realize Tony’s despair until he turned around to see the alien still sitting on the couch, staring at him.

America sighed and said, “Tony, before you freak out on me, hear me out first.”

Tony crossed his arms.  _No promises._

“Okay.  I know you don’t like Arthur very much, but he was visiting Matt this past week, and was able to set up his schedule so that he’s leaving from Washington D.C. on Sunday, so that he could come see me.  I haven’t seen him for at least six months, and I would really, really like it if you just cooperated with Arthur for this weekend.  I know I usually give you more of a warning, but even I didn’t know about it until today.”  America frowned.  “He said he called earlier this week, but I still don’t know why I didn’t get it, phone’s still working, I checked,” he added thoughtfully.

_Maybe it’s because I hung up on him while you were too busy singing in the shower to hear the phone?_

Tony shrugged.  “I don’t know,” he said in his native language, and America nodded. 

“Yeah, me neither.”  America looked down at Tony as he stood up.  “So will you please, _please_ behave for this trip?  I’ll buy two boxes of those pepperoni pizza pockets you like so much if you cooperate?”

Tony held up three fingers.  No way in hell was he going to cooperate without enough leverage to make it worth the effort.

“Fine, _three_ boxes, sounds good.  I’ll get them _after_ I drop Arthur off at the airport on Sunday,” America said before standing up again and stretching, his spine making cracking sounds. 

And just for the delay of the treats, Tony was _not_ going to cooperate regardless of a bribe.

The bribe was just a bonus, assuming Tony wasn’t caught.

“So are we cool?” America asked, looking hopeful.

Tony mused over the proposition for a few minutes, and then reluctantly stuck a hand out.  Thankfully America couldn’t tell that Tony was scowling right now, or he might suspect that Tony wasn’t planning to uphold his end of the bargain.  Then again, America did have a reputation for _completely_ missing things, not noticing them unless it was plain and obvious and in front of his face. 

America’s grin was big as he took Tony’s hand.  “I promise Arthur will be gone Sunday afternoon, ‘kay?” he said before shaking Tony’s hand and then straightening up.  He looked over at the bookshelf where Britannia was sitting; tail swishing lazily and green eyes watching carefully.  “And you, mister, are going to be downstairs the entire time so that Arthur and I won’t have to worry about stepping on your dumb tail again when we want to be together at night.  No arguments.”

The cat merely yawned and if it could talk, Tony suspected it would say something like ‘You creatures are beneath me, so I shall sleep wherever I damn well want to’.  Tony sighed; if only the creature was more intelligent, he’d think about recruiting it to his cause.  But humans and nations were the dominant species for a reason. 

Satisfied that the cat wasn’t going to talk back (or scratch for that matter), America sighed before kneeling down and began cleaning up the game boxes and the controllers.  Stuffing those underneath the TV with the DVDs, America went back to the coffee table and collected the empty pizza boxes that littered the place before reaching for the empty soda cans.

That’s when Tony knew to bail.  America was lucky that he was going to have England over, but expecting Tony to help clean up for an unwanted visitor was pushing said luck a little too far.

This year, Tony was going to put his foot down.  September through December _every year_ was usually Tony’s time with America.  This was the second time in sixteen years that England came around for a visit around this time.  England got most of the rest of the year with America, so Tony was going to defend _his_ America time and make it clear to the Englishman that September through December was off limits.

“I might need a little assistance,” Tony mused aloud as he headed toward the basement door, the entrance to his private workshop.  His eyes fell on Britannia, who was watching the moving cowlick on America’s head as the nation cleaned near the bookshelf.   Nah, the cat wasn’t smart enough for-

_Rrrarow!_

_“SHIT!”_ America howled as Britannia swiped and snagged the offending cowlick.  Badly startled by America’s reaction, the cat jumped up and shot off the bookshelf and back under the couch while America clutched his forehead. 

Tony frowned thoughtfully.  Perhaps the cat _could_ be useful after all.

He pulled out his workshop key card, ran it through the scanner, and opened the basement door and headed downstairs.

Time to get to work. 


	2. Chapter 2

As an alien, Tony carried many regrets in his long life.  Thankfully, none of them had ever occurred on Earth yet, or Tony would have had a very awkward time living with America. 

 _However_ , Tony’s first Earthbound regret was that he fell asleep at his worktable while fixing his time-traveling device; he’d gotten sidetracked from his plasma ray gun because the time-traveler device was making a weird beeping sound, and the last time that happened in 1950, Tony didn’t find it until fifty years later.

He woke up to a foul stench permeating the workroom, curling from the crack between the bottom of the door and the floor and burning his sensitive nostrils.  Noting the calendar, it was now Friday morning, and the room smelled like something organic had died very violently and was left to rot.  Stomach rolling, Tony prayed that America wasn’t trying another cooking experiment for breakfast.  He put on an old gas mask (it used to be America’s until he let Tony have it for an old experiment) before climbing up the stairs to the basement door.  Pushing it open, he stumbled through.

He silently thanked his own deities and America’s that the gas filters were still working, because he was now getting fresher air than what poor Britannia was probably getting (the cat still looked somewhat grumpy, sitting in its customary place on the bookshelf, although Tony suspected it had more to do with the cat getting booted from the bedroom last night than anything). 

Tony froze: Britannia unhappily sitting downstairs, a horrible stench from the kitchen, that phone call from yesterday…

_DAMN!_

Instead of charging into potentially hostile territory, Tony carefully eased the kitchen door open and cautiously stuck his head inside.

So yesterday had actually happened after all.

England, the cursed being that was the personification of, well, England and the representative of the United Kingdom, was happily stationed at the stove, humming to himself as he poked something in the pan with a black rubber spatula.  America was sitting at the table, tapping his foot in time with England’s tune as he read the _Washington Post_.  Judging from America’s impatient foot, a certain _someone_ hadn’t gotten his ‘quality time’, as America liked to put it, last night.  Tony knew from experience that the antsier that America was, the more eager he was to be with England.  Since he’d been asleep when England evidently arrived, Tony didn’t know what time that England came or how exhausted he must have been, but apparently it was enough to successfully deny America any quality time.

Either way, Tony was prepared to make a point about England’s cooking.

The door squeaked as Tony pushed it open.  “Hey Tony, long time no see,” America remarked without looking up from the paper.  England however immediately turned to face his longtime nemesis… and nearly jumped at the sight.

“Alfred!  What… where did he get _that_?” England demanded, startling the American.

“Huh, what?  Ooohhh, that?  It’s my old gas mask from 1918, he needed it for some experiment or other a couple years ago,” America said, lowering the newspaper to glance at Tony.  “Call it a hunch, Artie, but I don’t think he likes your cooking.”

England turned to face him.  “And _you_ be quiet, this is breakfast for us!”

Tony stared at England in horror.  He thought England _liked_ America enough to keep him healthy, not poison him to death. 

Or… what if England was _not_ over whatever it was that initially caused the rift between him and America?  And he _was_ slowly poisoning America to death after all while pretending that he cared?

Damn, that man was _sneaky_.

Unfortunately for him however, Tony was going to make sure that America stayed alive and saw the true intent behind England’s actions.  Yes, that sounded like a reasonable plan, and Tony figured that it should keep him occupied enough to tolerate England’s presence for the next couple of days.

“Hey Tony, you want some eggs too?” America said, suddenly reclaiming Tony’s attention.  Even through the gas mask goggles, Tony could see the blue eyes silently pleading with him to get along with England now and not cause an unnecessary fight.  “Please?” America added in a quieter tone as England pulled out two plates from the cupboard above the sink.

_This is it.  My last meal._

There was a reason that Tony had successfully dodged eating England’s food for this long, and that he had been smart enough to stay away while the fucking limey cooked.  His last breakfast on Earth _had_ to be this, didn’t it?

Reluctantly, Tony pulled the gas mask off and set it off on the coat rack hook, conveniently on top of England’s coat.   Then he slowly walked toward the kitchen table, trying not to react to America’s large smile.  No wonder it seemed that America had England wrapped around his little finger sometimes, the American’s charm always made it hard to resist strongly-worded requests.  It was always hilarious to watch America use that charm to convince others, humans and nations, to do as he asked.  It just wasn’t funny (or fair) when he used it on Tony. 

Tony climbed up onto the kitchen chair next to America, and tried not to cringe as England set down two plates of… something in front of him and America before taking a third plate for himself.  America hummed happily as England put down America’s favorite mug of coffee in front of him before placing a glass of orange juice in front of Tony (in his favorite glass that had cartoon spaceships on it no less, was there _anything_ that America _didn’t_ tell England??).  Then England sat down at his place while America put aside the newspaper. 

Then they started eating.

Well, America and England did at least.

Tony picked up his fork and cautiously nudged the black goop on his plate, and froze when it wiggled like Jell-o.  He didn’t dare sniff the pile of stuff next to the Jell-o eggs; judging from the shapes, it probably had started life as bacon at some point, some point very far down the timeline down from here.  And it was the source of the dying organic smell that Tony had smelled earlier. 

Oh wait; he had to eat this, didn’t he?  He was going to die a very gruesome death from indigestion if consumption didn’t kill him first.

Well, he had nothing to lose or gain from just sitting there, staring at his plate.  No pain, no gain, as America would say before doing something fantastically stupid (even for him) in front of either the other nations or Congress (that happened one time, the incident ended up on America’s unwritten list of ‘NEVER do THAT again. EVER’).

He took a bite of the stuff that used to be bacon in another life.  And then swallowed it after a few minutes of awkward chewing.

Tony clamped his mouth shut as his stomach rolled and rebelled at the unwanted intrusion.  Colors swam vibrantly in front of his eyes and he thought for a moment that world was teetering on a needlepoint before it was about to be pitched into the deep star-studded abyss that was space.  Then something sharp _yanked_ him by the collar and forced him to refocus on the blue-painted ceramic plate, the same plate that has the poor excuse for a breakfast on it.  The rest of the meal sat there, silently mocking him as he silently divided the food up in his head to find out that he had seventeen torturous bites left if he kept the same amount of food on his fork each time.  If he combined the portions, he had eight left with one small one left over. 

Oh, goodness, he was going to die by bacon and eggs.  His favorite Earth breakfast too (when America cooked, obviously). 

Steeling himself for the inevitable, Tony decided to take the plunge and just eat the damn food.  Get it off his plate as fast as possible.

America jumped when Tony unexpectedly began shoveling the food into his mouth, food bits flying around the alien while its fork became a blur.  “And you say _I’m_ a messy eater,” he complained to England, who only had a raised bushy eyebrow at Tony’s apparent enthusiasm.

“That’s because you _are_ ,” he said, not looking at America as the latter got up and took his and England’s dishes to the sink, leaving England and Tony alone at the breakfast table.

It took Tony a few minutes to realize that the Brit was now watching him carefully.  And that America was gone, leaving Tony alone with his arch-nemesis.

“Ah, Tony?  May we talk for a few minutes while America is cleaning up in the kitchen?” England said in a sweet tone, alerting Tony to the approaching danger.

Tony crossed his arms, but didn’t say anything.  He felt if he opened his mouth, he might regurgitate his entire breakfast on England.  America would then interpret that as an intentional strike against England, and then no more pepperoni pizza pockets.

So he kept his mouth shut.

England correctly interpreted the action as an invitation to speak.  “As you may or may not know, this is election year for America.  He is extremely stressed out right now from the growing political atmosphere.”

_No shit, Sherlock.  Did you figure that out all by yourself?_

“Normally, I have my own matters to attend to in London and elsewhere in the Commonwealth, so I am usually unable to visit him around now.  It just happened to time out well this year that I could come visit him, unfortunately for a few days though,” England said before sipping his tea, completely unaware that Tony wanted nothing more than to remove the contents of his stomach just to relieve the pain.  “That being said, I’d like to make one thing very clear to you,” he continued.

The pain in Tony’s stomach stopped. 

_Wait, what now?_

England leaned forward, the black caterpillars on his face drawing together into an impressive scowl; Tony felt the first flickers of fear he’d ever experienced in England’s presence.  “If you as so much _dare_ to interfere with America and I, I will not hesitate to remove you from the premises for the _entire_ weekend,” he growled, and Tony wished he could phase through the chair to escape to his sanctuary faster.  The ex-empire meanwhile straightened up and said coldly, “Consider this morning’s breakfast a warning.”

Tony stared at the older nation, who had gone back to innocently sipping his tea while America bounded back into the dining room to collect Tony’s dishes.  Was there a loophole in America’s deal, that if England struck first, Tony could hit back in ‘self-defense’ and still get his pepperoni pizza pockets?  Probably not.

Tony stared balefully at England, noting that America had brought back a fresh cup of tea.  Was that another resident for the teacup graveyard he saw sitting on the table?

“So England, I was thinking that the three of us could head on down to the National Mall tonight, there’s going to be a festival and there’s going to be fireworks and everything,” America said as he sat down facing England, leaning forward slightly.  “My boss and his wife and kids are going to be there…”

“I swear that your boss’s son doesn’t like me,” England said, his light scowl threatening to morph into a smile.  “But I do know how much you like your fireworks.  What time shall we leave this evening?”

“Seven.  Tony loves the kids, which actually is unusual for him,” America said, glancing at Tony, who shrugged.  It was the most physical response he could give at the moment.

_Brrrring!  Brrrring!_

Unaware that his best friend was in pain and missing the subtle hints, America jumped up and said, “I’ll be back.  Tony, don’t forget to take your dishes to the kitchen!”  Then he darted off to save the phone, which for some odd reason was buried beneath the couch cushions in the living room.

England and Tony made brief eye contact, and England mouthed, _I’m watching you._

Tony scowled, felt his stomach rally for the last, massive revolt, and then dropped everything in favor of running for the bathroom to save his dignity at least if nothing else.

But, he could take consolation in the fact that England declared war first. 

England wanted to stake his claim on America time this weekend? Then so be it.

Tony was more than ready to defend _his_ America time.

But first, the war in his stomach had to be dealt with first.


	3. Chapter 3

England relaxed on the couch in a surprisingly clean living room as he read his book.  America said he’d wanted to finish some paperwork before the fireworks that night, and who was England to discourage America from doing any serious work? 

Britannia, America’s Scottish Fold, was purring contentedly on England’s lap as he absently stroked the animal.  Personally, England was still mystified at how America was able to maintain a harmonious household with a cat, a nation, and an alien from outer space under the same roof.  He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised; America would never have turned away a friend in need (even if said friend wasn’t even from _Earth_ ), and America always had had a way with animals, even when he was a little colony. 

England still remembered the multitude of rabbits that America insisted on keeping with him in the first house England built for them.  The poor little things unfortunately hadn’t survived that first winter after England’s arrival, and England had returned to the colonies to find America in tears from both hunger and grief. 

To this day, and he never shared his suspicions with America, but England suspected that the personification of the native lands, America’s mother, was responsible for the land’s rebellion against the English colonists in those early years.  France ran into similar trouble, albeit not as bad as England.  But Canada’s bear (contrary to popular opinion, England _did_ remember his other son’s country name.  The human name however was a different story), had given France a world of grief at first.  That was some of the consolation England got out of the whole mess. 

Tony, however, was an anomaly that he would never understand.  America said that Tony had crash-landed in Roswell, New Mexico sometime in the 1950s, and England did not walk away with a favorable impression of the alien.  Of course, interactions between the two hadn’t become necessary until after England and America resolved the issues standing between the two of them, and England became a frequent visitor to the American’s home.

That was when the problems started.

But for the most part, England studiously ignored the alien and its pranks in favor of paying attention to America.  But this time around, he hadn’t seen America in a long time, and didn’t want to have to constantly watch his back for any potential ambushes (it was his old pirate senses that saved his pride last time he visited).  So he’d cooked breakfast that morning, putting extra effort into not burning so badly that even America wouldn’t eat it, but not perfect enough to not get his threat properly across to Tony.

And if the alien’s reaction after breakfast wasn’t enough, England was confident that threat he made after the meal before Tony left did the trick.

Britannia stretched on his lap, claws extending briefly before the cat nestled down again.  The cat had been quite the bed companion last night, although England was pretty sure that America had been a little put out that the cat was taking up most of the cuddling space.  Still, the scene had been cute this morning, waking up to find America snuggled up against him with Britannia comfortably nestled between the two nations.

“Hey.”

He looked up from his book and the cat to see America standing there, a light of mischief in those blue eyes behind those glasses and a smirk on his face.  He was still wearing his dress shirt and pants, which he’d changed into after breakfast out of habit, but the top two buttons on his shirt were undone.  England raised a bushy eyebrow as he lowered his book, Britannia taking the hint and jumping off his lap.  America meanwhile smirked as he settled down on England's lap, startling the older nation.  "I thought you had paperwork to finish, love," he said as he set aside his book.

America sighed theatrically as he made himself comfortable, resting his knees on either side of England's waist.  "Yeah, I do, but then I realized what a poor host I was, neglecting my guest.  So I decided to compromise.  I did some work," here he rested his forehead against England's, "and now I want your full, undivided attention," he whispered before leaning forward and kissing England, a soft chaste kiss that brushed lightly against the older nation's lips

Or at least that was probably what America had in mind, but England's hand snaked around the American's neck and tangled itself in America's soft blond hair before gently forcing America to come closer.  England meanwhile straightened to meet America, and silently reveled in the newfound slight increase of pressure.  A small nip caused America's mouth to open in surprise, and England did not hesitate to take advantage of this.

America let out a soft moan when their tongues brushed languidly against each other, the sound creating a slight vibration that traveled pleasantly down England's spine. "Oh, God, I forgot how much I missed this, missed you," America whispered as he tried to catch his breath after they parted.  "I wish we can see each other more often."

"We can, love, it's certainly easier nowadays for me to travel, A-America..." England's words were cut off as America began brushing his lips and teeth against England's throat.

He could feel America's smile against his throat before the younger nation continued suckling down his throat to his collarbone.  " America...not here...the...your do..." England's concerns about the glass sliding doors went out the window when America's tongue slid down past his collarbone and down past the shirt collar.

 "Shh, you're talking too much, Artie.  Just close your eyes and _feel_.  No talking," America said, his lips barely brushing against England's suddenly sensitized skin as his fingers started undoing the top of the older nation's shirt.

“One moment, America, there seems to be a slight problemmpf!” England’s words disappeared as America kissed him.

England’s patience, already worn thin, snapped.  Gripping America’s shoulders, he used his deceptive strength to force a surprised America back down onto the couch, earning a grunt that turned into a snicker from the American.  England settled his knees on either side of America’s waist before leaning down predatorily.  “And here I was all cranky ‘cause you said no last night,” he teased as England playfully (and lightly) smacked the side of his head. 

“Traffic was awful and I got here later than I’d planned,” England grumbled but leaned down anyway to kiss America lightly on the nose. 

“Yeah, and then you were too tired to do _anything_ when you finally got here except grumble at me and go to bed with no snuggling,” America said, still smirking.

England scowled.  “America, it was an almost _eleven hour drive_ to Washington D.C. from Montreal.  Consider yourself lucky that I didn’t stay long when I had to stop to get gas and eat and therefore get here later.”

“Eleven hours is still better than eleven weeks,” America muttered with a slight scowl, and England sighed, knowing he was thinking of back during his colonial days, when the only way to get between Europe and North America was by ship.  The trip itself was long enough, and England’s stay in his home had been even longer. 

“None of that now, understand?” England finally said, smiling when America lost concentration and the scowl abruptly disappeared.  “That’s in the past, where it belongs.  I can get to you more easily now.”

“I know, I know.  Sometimes, I wish that we didn’t have so much work so I could see you more often,” America mumbled, and England felt his body relax underneath him. 

“Well, I’m here now so don’t worry about things like that,” England whispered before leaning forward to kiss him lightly on the nose, earning a chuckle from the American.  England let all his worries and concerns from the day start to melt away as he began to unbutton the shirt more and listen to the breathy sounds coming from the American’s mouth.  Dear Lord, he _had_ been neglecting his lover for so long…

_Dweep!  Dweep!  Dweep!_

But, as everything with America, it didn’t matter how strong England was.  The outcome was always the same.

“FIRE!” America bellowed, shooting up so fast that he and England knocked heads together and the Englishman found himself tumbling off the couch and onto the floor, his already-sore head narrowly missing the glass-topped coffee table.  He struggled to sit up to find that America had vaulted over the couch and was already running for his study.  England moved his hand to get back up, placing his weight on something soft with a firm center…

_Rrrawor!_

A tan-and-white bullet shot out from its hiding place under the couch, its tail fully puffed up as it disappeared around the corner.  A loud _thump_ and America’s yelp told England that cat and Nation had collided somewhere down the hall, and the Nation had miserably lost the contest.  The fire alarms kept ringing as America stumbled back into the room, reminding England of a panicking chicken. “ _America!”_ England shouted, catching America’s shirt collar. “ _Calm down,”_ he said once he was sure that America was paying attention to him.  “You can’t think straight in an emergency if you panic like that.  Fire extinguisher.  Where is it?”

“Kitchen and study,” America recited, and then darted off toward the kitchen while England hurried to the study. 

America’s study was something that a museum curator would be insanely jealous of.  It held relics as far back as his colonial days to the present, everything from photographs, small mementos to old flags, spurs, and even what looked suspiciously like a riding crop.  England located the fire extinguisher wedged between the old Revolutionary flag and two wooden toy soldiers (he still had those?), and then eased it out of its glass case.  Then he started walking toward the study door.

The moment he got there however, there was a muffled _boom_ that shook the old house slightly.

“America!” England shouted, pushing the study door to leave.

It was locked.

_What???_

England tried the doorknob again, but once again found it to be locked.  “America!” he shouted again, but bit back a sigh of frustration when he realized that the study was probably too far from the kitchen for it to make much of a difference.

Sighing, and mentally reminding himself to pay America for the damage he was about to incur, England took a few steps back before charging at the study door.

Which was somehow already open by the time England reached it.

_Crash!_

It took England a few seconds to process what had happened, and then remembered that the house was on fire as the alarms pierced through the fog that was in England’s brain.  Then he remembered that America was in the kitchen, possibly unconscious or even dead (as temporary as death was for them, it was still disorienting to wake up back in the heart of the capital city, and England still had a heart attack whenever he found America dead, always worried that America’s number was up), and then staggered to his knees while reaching for the dropped fire extinguisher.

The smoke had yet to reach this part of the house, but England was still careful as he made his way to the kitchen.  He didn’t know where Tony was but at the moment he couldn’t care less.  Britannia probably used the cat door either at the front or back door, so it was just America that needed recovery.

“America!”

“England!?”

_Smack!_

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry,” America chanted as he caught England before the island nation could fall backwards.  “Fire department’s on the way, stupid kitchen caught fire.  You weren’t cooking or anything, were you?”

England smacked him across the side of the head.  “Of course not you idiot!  And my cooking does _not_ start house fires!”

America couldn’t help it; he grinned broadly.  “So you’re saying if I took a peek at the fire department’s records in _your_ area, I wouldn’t see your address _anywhere?”_

“Git!” England swiped at America again, who only started laughing hard. 

“C’mon, Tony’s already outside with Britannia,” America said between laughs, trying his honest best to stifle his laughter. 

The two nations (finally) made it out more or less intact; England’s pride had taken a couple more hits as America made a few more jabs at his cooking abilities.  America was not as upset about this as England would have thought; apparently each room door was lined with a fireproof seal that put some effort in keeping the fire from spreading before the fire department arrived.  Also the Richmond Fire Department was apparently used to answering calls from this particular address, having handled everything from firework mishaps to barbecue experiments in the last ten years. 

“Aren’t fireworks illegal here anyway?” England asked when America finished talking.

America shrugged.  “I should probably check.  All the states have different rules about them, I just figure that I’m justified since I’m the United States of America anyway.”

“That’s not setting a good example for your citizens,” England chided.

“C’mon, it’s not like _they_ don’t smuggle fireworks across state borders anyway,” America grumbled.

Tony was perched delicately on the patio table, wearing white sneakers, blue shorts, a red-and-white striped shirt, and a black Florida Marlins cap.  He was holding onto a very upset Britannia, whose body fur was still puffed up.  England narrowed his eyes slightly at the alien; it was looking too innocently back.  That or England was just overreacting.

“Y’know, you took your time getting back with the fire extinguisher.  Did you have a hard time finding it?” America asked; they could both hear the fire engine sirens approaching.

“No, I found it all right.  It’s just that your study door first locked itself when I tried to leave, and then was miraculously opened when I was about to break the door down,” England said, watching Tony carefully out of his peripheral vision. 

“Huh, that’s weird.  I’ve never had that problem before,” America remarked, frowning slightly.  He shrugged, and then grimaced when they heard the fire engines arrive.  “My handler is going to _freak_ when she hears about this…”

“Shouldn’t we head around to the front so that they don’t go in looking for us?” England asked, frowning.  Tony was taking this fiery development very calmly.

“Nah, they know I’ll be out back.  Besides, I can’t let them see Tony,” America said, shrugging.  He sat down at one of the patio chairs and gestured for England to sit as well.  “Like I said, we’ve got this routine down pat.”

“That’s what worries me,” England said.  “You’re taking this too calmly.”

“Well, like you said.  I can’t think straight if I panic.  Simple.”

“Jones!”

The two nations looked up to see a firefighter approaching.  America waved and shouted back, “Hey Chief!  What’s the damage looking like?”

Chief Robin Mendez was from an old Virginian family that had one hell of a temper in the bloodline, a fact that America unfortunately discovered the hard way a couple years ago.  She was a little over five feet, and her dark hair was pulled back in a severe bun that made her appear stricter than she probably was; England couldn’t tell, seeing as he had never met her before. 

She eyed America for a moment before sighing.  “Mr. Jones, we were able to determine that someone set this fire in the kitchen, and set it up so that the fire would be contained in the kitchen and living room.  Thankfully, we were able to stop it before it got nasty.  There was something unrecognizable in the oven that might have been food at one point in its life, but we think that the fire started there.”

_Someone set the fire?_

England’s eyes were drawn to Tony, who was humming to himself as he innocently petted the still-riled cat while America talked to the fire chief.  The timing was either just a coincidence, or Tony was retaliating for breakfast that morning.

Actually, considering Tony’s general attitude toward him, England was fully prepared to bet the latter.

England sighed.  He had been hoping for a relaxing weekend with America.  But the little alien seemed intent on making things difficult for him.

The war was on.


	4. Chapter 4

“Alfred!”

Tony rolled his eyes but braced himself for impact anyway as the President’s three children ran toward the two nations and one alien.  They were at the festival on the National Mall, and the evening temperature was just right for a nice night out.  The President was unable to attend, but the First Lady was bringing the twin girls and younger son out to the party.  America had called her after they were allowed back in the house earlier that afternoon, and so there they were, all in casual dress. 

The identical twin blond girls, Maddie and Minnie, reached America first and he easily scooped the giggling pair up into a hug.  The youngest, Jamie, (who was significantly smaller than his sisters) predictably barreled straight into Tony, giggling as he latched onto Tony’s NASA T-shirt.  The First Lady came not too far behind them.

“Arthur!  What a pleasant surprise!” she said, smiling broadly as she approached the small group, a few Secret Service trailing along behind her.

“Ah, yes, you are looking well, ma’am,” England replied as one of the twins, Tony couldn’t tell which, squirmed in America’s grasp before migrating over to the Englishman’s arms.

Tony did the sensible thing and tuned them out before he got violently ill just from listening to the limey. 

Instead, he focused on Jamie.

As he _always_ did when he was with Tony, Jamie (bravely) put his hand right where Tony’s nose was.  Then he would put his hand on his own nose, frown, look at Tony, and then up at his mother, who was still talking animatedly with America.  “Mama, it’s gone!” he shouted.

“I’m sure that Tony’s nose isn’t gone, sweetie.  I promise,” she said before returning to her conversation with America and England.

Both she and Tony were unfortunately used to this.

 _Finally_ , the First Lady stepped back.  “All right girls, Jamie, we’re going to let Alfred, Arthur and Tony enjoy the festival, okay?”  Come on Minnie, I think I saw your favorite ride over-”

“But Mo-om!  We _never_ get to see Alfred unless Daddy wants him, and we see Tony and Arthur even less!” Maddie protested, twisting around in Alfred’s grip to better face her mother.  “Can’t we stay with them?”

“Yeah Mom!  And Randy and Ty are going to stick around whether we’re with them or not!” Minnie complained.  “Randy can stay with us, Ty can go with Jamie!”

Secret Service.  If there ever was an entity that Tony hated more than the fucking limey, it had to be the American Secret Service.  Even America was wary whenever they were near Tony, seeing as it was _always,_ without fail, the Secret Service catching and shipping Tony off to Area 51 without America’s knowledge.  Whether it was a genuine accident or not each time was forever up for debate.  In the end, America had begged a close friend of his on the federal staff to transfer to Area 51 just to catch Tony in case he couldn’t rescue Tony in time.

Thankfully, it appeared that the First Lady wasn’t comfortable with the idea either.  “Girls, I think Alfred and Arthur are here to relax, and Maddie, Ty is here for _your_ protection, remember?” she said, smiling apologetically at America. 

Maddie scowled.  “Jamie!  You want to stay with Tony, right?” she demanded, looking down at her little brother for moral support.

 _No kid.  You do not want to stay with me._   Tony had big plans for this evening; plans that included a certain Englishman and ‘borrowed’ fireworks, seeing that the ‘accidental’ kitchen fire didn’t work earlier that afternoon.  He’d even put England’s food in the oven to burn in a last ditch attempt to pin the blame on England. 

Jamie beamed.  “Tony!” he chirped.

Maddie looked triumphantly back at her mother, who looked pained.

“Val, it’s no problem.  Arthur’s great with kids, and Tony loves Jamie,” America said, setting Maddie back down on the ground.  “Ty can keep an eye on Jamie while Arthur, Randy and I can keep an eye on the twins.”

The First Lady looked troubled.  “You’re going to separate?”

“Not if it makes you uncomfortable,” England cut in.  “He was just thinking that Jamie might enjoy a different ride than the girls.  And I speak from experience when I say that little boys _need_ to be constantly moving.”

The First Lady arched an eyebrow, but when England discreetly pointed at an oblivious America, she nodded in understanding.  “All right then, if you’re sure,” she said, smiling hesitantly.

“No prob!” America replied cheerfully.  He glanced down at Tony and said, “Sure you can handle watching Jamie?”

 _What?_   “If the fu- the limey can handle it, then so can I,” Tony retorted in his native language, cutting the swear off since Jamie was practically hanging off of him now.

The important thing though was that England got the gist of it.

His tone seemed to somewhat mollify the First Lady, although Tony could still see the lingering doubt in her eyes.  “All right then, if you’re sure,” she finally said.  “But as long as the guards stay with the children, that’s my only stipulation.  And that the children are on their best behavior,” she added, looking pointedly at her girls, who smiled back innocently.  “Oh, and that we all meet up at the fireworks in an hour.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll _all_ get along,” America assured her, placing emphasis on the word ‘all’ as though discreetly reminding Tony to play nice.  So he must have been paying attention after all when Tony almost dropped the F-bomb when talking about England just now.  Damn.  Tony sincerely hoped that he didn’t just lose a box of his coveted pepperoni pizza pockets for that. 

If he did though, the deal was void and he was going to raise serious hell because of that. _No one_ , not even America, had better touch his pepperoni pizza pockets, especially since he’d put up with England for this long so far.

“Okay.”  The First Lady smiled at her children before she added, “Remember, best behavior, and listen to Alfred, Arthur, and Tony, understand?  Randy and Ty will stay with the girls, and Lewis will go with Jamie.  Have fun!”

“Bye Mom!” the girls chorused, and Jamie let out a happy squeal.

“Okay then!” America said once the First Lady left with her small entourage of security.  “Where do you guys want to go first?”

“Bumper cars!” Maddie yelled right as Minnie said “ Ferris wheel.”

Both girls stared at each other as England set Minnie back down, but before they could erupt into a fight, America quickly added, “How about we do rock-paper-scissors to decide who goes first, and we’ll go to the other after?” he suggested.  “Best two out of three?”

As America and England were settling that, Tony looked back at Jamie, who was still hanging onto him.  Thankfully, Jamie had an uncanny ability to sense what other people wanted from him, which helped because Tony’s English wasn’t complete despite having lived with America for around sixty-two years already.  Jamie squirmed until Tony put him down, and then he tugged on Tony’s hand.  “Horsies!” he said.

Ah, yes: the all time classic and Jamie’s current obsession. 

The carousel.

Somehow, Tony just got the feeling that he’d be doing _that_ for an hour.

So he gave in, and the two set off in search of the carousel.

For a large carnival attraction, the carousel was surprisingly hard to find in the maze of people.  Tony and Jamie meandered through the crowds, the Secret Service agent trailing along right behind them.  The agent’s presence caused the other partygoers to give the trio a wide berth, and that should have been reassuring to Tony, knowing that Jamie was safe and his chances of getting harmed were now drastically reduced than if it had just been the two of them.  It was just that Tony had a patchy record with the Secret Service, and an even patchier one with the Secret Service chief.  It was a hate-filled rivalry that went as far back as when the chief had been but a recruit.  Even years later the stupid American still loathed him, and didn’t care who knew.  He only (barely) tolerated Tony at America’s strongly worded request, and both parties kept a fairly good distance between each other in order to maintain the peace.

But for tonight, Tony would have to settle for keeping an eye on the Secret Service agent, a young man named Lewis who, at first glance, seemed a little wet behind the ears.

Tony knew better though.  Although the First Lady did keep an unusually loose leash on her children, she was still fiercely protective of them, especially the baby of the family: Jamie.  Tony was lucky that unlike her last predecessor, this First Lady tolerated allowing Tony into the White House unsupervised, so the least he could do to show his gratitude was not lose the kid in the thickening crowds.

“Tony?”  A little anxious hand tugged on his T-shirt sleeve.  “Where are horsies?”

 _Hell if I know._   Tony paused long enough to look around, but only saw a thick wall of people Then he tugged on Jamie’s sleeve again to catch the toddler’s attention, and started to walk forward.  He carefully listened for the distinctive tinkling music that the carousel had.  Jamie obediently followed him, looking around and staring in wonder at the swirling colors and noises.  Every so often Tony stopped to make sure that Jamie hadn’t wandered off in pursuit of something shiny as he was prone to do.  But thankfully, Jamie was still close behind him as usual, looking as Lewis kept close behind him.

The limey was a lucky soul tonight.  Since Tony had his ‘hands’ full with Jamie and the icky Secret Service agent, he wasn’t going to be able to gather the necessary supplies for his next strike; he had to keep the upper hand while he still had it.  Tony had been hoping to acquire fireworks and had two options of what to do with them; either set them off near the limey at random intervals throughout the day (America would love it as long as they were outdoors, but England would be _pissed_ ), or better yet, plant them in the Englishman’s suitcase since private ownership of fireworks was illegal in Virginia.  That way, the limey would get busted by the authorities and kicked out of the country, regardless of what America wanted.

But now it wasn’t going to happen, since it was more important to Tony to stay in the First Lady’s good graces than to drive England permanently out of the United States.  The latter could always wait. 

“Tony!  Horsies!” Jamie squealed, pointing eagerly at the carousel, which was conveniently straight ahead.  “Tony, I wanna ride the horsies!” he whined, sounding disturbing close to a whining America.

Tony wasn’t dumb, and he caught the toddler’s hand before the child could bolt off.  The two made their way over to the carousel, and waited in line for a few minutes before Lewis gave the operator seventy-five cents for three people; Tony could have paid, but why argue with a free ride?

“I want _this_ one!” Jamie said, making his way over to a brown-and-white palomino.  Lewis swooped in at that moment and carefully hoisted Jamie up onto the horse, leaving Tony free to climb onto the coach that was right next to Jamie (Tony knew he was too short to be of much help, so why bother?)

The operator eventually closed the gate and began the ride.

Tony made himself comfortable; he knew he was going to be here for a while.  He also knew that he had to distract himself so that the stupid tinkling carousel music wouldn’t be stuck in his head for the rest of the evening.

Maybe, if he could get his hands on England’s cell phone, he could perhaps program the annoying carousel music as the ringtone for _everyone_ on England’s contact list, just to annoy the hell out of the technologically challenged nation.  A farewell gift perhaps, right before the limey left.

The only downside to that plan was that he’d actually have to keep England around a little longer than he’d actually like if he wanted to do that.

“Tony!  I wanna ride the horsies again!” Jamie squealed, breaking into Tony’s thoughts.  Tony looked around in brief confusion to find that the ride had stopped and Lewis was helping Jamie down.  The operator was obviously waiting for the current group of riders to leave so he could let the next group in.

“Again!  Again!  Again!” Jamie cheered as he ran ahead of Tony and Lewis, arcing around the ride’s fence before easily getting back in line to go back on.  Tony just shrugged, figuring that he could simply continue plotting.

Seventy-five cents later, Jamie was back on the beloved palomino, Lewis was at his side, and Tony was kicking back in his fake little coach again.  He silently bet himself ten bucks that Jamie was going to want at least two more carousel rides after this.

Three more rides later and Tony wished he’d been proven wrong.

The tinkling carousel music soon became ingrained in his head, going around and around as Jamie kept getting back in line, Lewis at his side, and Tony in the coach.  Over and over and over again, Tony’s usual amount of patience with the kid was starting to wear thin. 

It wasn’t until an hour and ten rides later that Tony realized that Jamie was being unusually quiet.  He sat up and turned to the kid, hoping that he wasn’t chewing anything he wasn’t supposed to be…

To his utter horror, the kid was gone.

As in, ‘nowhere-in-sight-and-completely-missing’ gone. 

It took Tony a few minutes to realize that Lewis was missing too.  Had the Secret Service agent really been an undercover spy, working for a secret group that wished harm and blackmail the First Family?  Tony had always suspected that something was off about the guy, but he didn’t think it would turn into a successful kidnapping! 

The First Lady was going to be _beyond_ furious.

Tony’s days as a free alien were suddenly numbered. 

_Where, where, where is that brat?_

Tony started his search by looking for horses.  The kid, without a doubt, was attracted to them and would probably go looking for them too.  Unfortunately, there were only two attractions that had horses: the carousel and the pony rides.  Jamie obviously wasn’t anywhere near the carousel.  Tony had to study the pony rides from a distance; America, England, the twin girls and their bodyguards were there, and Tony wasn’t quite ready to face America _yet_.  As a result, he couldn’t see the riders very well.

He started wandering the fairgrounds, searching for either Jamie or Lewis.  One had to lead to the other.  People chattered with each other as they walked past him, unaware of his plight.  That was probably a good thing; if the media got a hold of the fact that the president’s son was kidnapped, America would probably take the heat for losing him in the first place, and the media was _brutal_ when it came to juicy stories like this.

Speaking of which, Tony probably should hurry up, seeing that he had no idea when he was supposed to be meeting the others for the fireworks.  Including the First Lady.

“Which one did you say he was?”

“That one.  In the Marlins baseball cap.”

It took Tony five seconds to remember that _he_ was wearing a Marlins baseball cap.

Tony turned around… and felt his heart freeze.

Three black-uniformed officials stood there, two wearing helmets while the leader did not.  They were all staring at Tony, hands out and flexing dangerously.   Tony felt his gut twist when he spotted the familiar blue-and-white triangle patches on the two helmeted agents and the eagle seal on the leader.

A Secret Service agent leading two Area 51 goons. 

They definitely weren’t there looking for Jamie.

At that point, Tony did not care where the guys came from or who sent them.  What _did_ matter was that two out of the three things he hated the most were standing in front of him (throw the limey in there and then Tony was never coming out of America’s house again), and they were all coming for him. 

And America wasn’t there to protect him.

_America, where the hell are you?_

Tony began to run for his life.  The men behind him were shouting and giving swift chase.  People immediately backed away from the angry officials, and a few were even cheering Tony on.  Some tried to help Tony escape, but received an accidental elbow or slap to the face as the officials tried their damndest to catch up.

After all of this, assuming Tony escaped free, he was going to grab his starship and move to Alaska, as far from the First Lady as possible.  Maybe he’d come back once Jamie was found and recovered safe and sound…

That was when he saw his savior.

America had all of fifteen seconds to look up, process that Tony was hurtling toward him, and properly react as Tony launched himself at the Nation, babbling and pointing at the Area 51 and Secret Service.  America scowled at them before turning to move Tony out of sight.  “Come on guys, what did he do now?” America asked, eyes narrowing behind his glasses.

The Secret Service agent straightened himself and said, “We received a tip that the president’s son was in danger, having wandered away from his guard and that he had been lured away by an alien disguised in a Marlins baseball cap, sir.”  Tony knew that the agent didn’t know America’s secret, just that the young man before him could pull serious weight in the White House.

America groaned.  “Who told you that cr- _nonsense_?” he asked.  “Tony was supposed to be _watching_ Jamie, not luring him away.  Lewis was with Jamie the whole time.”

“You trust the boy with, um, Tony?” the agent asked, confused.

_Definitely a newbie._

“Yeah.  Jamie’s over there with his sisters, has been for the last forty-five minutes,” America said, rubbing Tony’s back as the alien began to fake-sniff to garner sympathy.  England rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything.

While America tried to calm the Secret Service down as well as the Area 51 goons, Tony peered around America’s head and saw for himself that Jamie was indeed with his sisters, riding a horse that looked close to a palomino.  The First Lady was leaning on the fence, smiling and taking pictures as her children came close like the other parents.  England was standing next to Lewis, who looked faintly annoyed... as did England. 

The limey noticed Tony watching him, and casually walked over.  After double-checking that America was too engaged to notice him, England leaned forward and snarled softly, “I do hope you enjoy carousel music, seeing as it’s going to be stuck in your head for quite a while.”

Of course, once England brought it up again, the music pushed itself to the front of Tony’s consciousness.

“And do watch yourself, you’d hate to give the First Lady a legitimate reason to call the Area 51 folks back in.  So knock it off and _behave_ ,” the Englishman added warningly before walking back to Lewis, who looked strangely smug.

Tony stared at the Englishman.  How dare he tell Tony what to do, and threaten him like that?  That was _America’s_ job!  Lewis must have been in on it, yes, there was no doubt.  It was simple: England must have distracted Jamie with the pony rides, and Lewis followed Jamie like he always did.  Lewis then, or even Randy or Ty, must have tipped the other agent off at England’s suggestion; the feeling of hatred was mutual between Tony and the Secret Service.  Of course, to add injury to insult, Tony was left on the carousel to get that damn music stuck in his head before he was chased.

So Tony was stuck with the tinkling carousel music in his head and a deeply wounded pride.

Tony began to mull over potential payback possibilities, he did have a nice long list of things he always wanted to do in extreme situations.  This most certainly counted as an ‘extreme situation’…

“Okay girls!  Fireworks time!” America said, setting Tony back down on the ground.  “C’mon, we don’t want to miss anything!” he said as the girls and Jamie were helped down from their ponies, England returning to America’s side.  Tony followed the group, careful to stay close to America but far from England at the same time.

Poor England.  He was about to get into a very… _sticky_ situation tomorrow morning.

 


	5. Chapter 5

It took England a few minutes to properly wake up the next morning, wiped out as he was from last night’s events.  After setting those federal agents on Tony, he’d set up and maintained an invisible magical barrier around himself for the entire fireworks show because frankly, he wanted to enjoy his evening with America, not worry about a pissy alien with anger management issues.  It had been well past midnight when he, America and Tony got back to America’s house, and all three were exhausted to the point where Tony wandered off without insulting England for the nth time that day while the two nations collapsed in bed upstairs.

Now though, England knew the trick that would definitely start his day off well: shower and tea.

Once dry from the shower, England padded downstairs in casual wear; it was the weekend, and he did know how and when to loosen up (regardless of what America said).  Breakfast was going to be simple: everything that could be cooked had mysteriously vanished yesterday afternoon, after the kitchen fire, but he didn’t mind settling for cereal.  He always made sure America had something that wasn’t drowning in sugar…

_Aha._

Next to the box of Earl Grey was a box of raisin bran with oats.  Something healthy.  Pleased, England reached for the cereal as well as the tea, content that he wasn’t going to go into sugar overload so early in the morning.

Humming to himself, England started heating the water in his kettle before he began to prepare his breakfast.  He poured the cereal and then set the box down in order to get the milk from the fridge. 

Or at least he tried to.

The box remained stuck fast to his hand.

Frowning, England tried to flex his hand open and closed, but to no avail.  His fingers were definitely stuck to the box and not just his palm.  No matter how hard he strained, pulling at the cereal box with his free (napkin-covered) hand, the box refused to obey or cooperate.

Green eyes narrowed, and then England raised the box to his eye-level to closely examine the cardboard and his fingers.  The morning light filtering through the kitchen window through partially closed curtains reflected off of something that was clear and shiny, something that looked suspiciously like glue. 

And it didn’t even take an idiot to figure out who put it there in the first place.

_Tony._

America (and Tony for that matter) should consider themselves fortunate that America found Tony decades _after_ America became independent.  If this had happened during America’s colonial days, England would have gotten rid of Tony _years_ ago.  Regardless of America’s protests.

Well, he wasn’t going to let Tony disrupt his morning routine now.  He refused to let the alien win.

Grumbling to himself now, England went to the refrigerator with a newfound determination.  Before taking the milk out of refrigerator, he tested the handle by pressing a paper napkin to it.  After it immediately fell off, he deemed the milk safe to carry and brought it back to the counter.

_Bet Tony thought I couldn’t make breakfast one-handed.  Hah!_

After pouring the milk, the kettle went off, its shrill whistle reverberating throughout the kitchen.  Opening the cupboard, England was slightly miffed to find that the two teacups he usually kept at America’s house were gone, replaced by three new souvenir coffee mugs.  One said ‘Boston Tea Party 1775’, and had a cartoon teacup filled to the brim with a ship floating in it, carrying a familiar flag.  The middle mug said ‘Saratoga, NY’, and the third said, ‘Yorktown, VA’.  England knew that America couldn’t have put them there; while he was less than serious most of the time, the Revolution was a topic that both he and England had silently agreed to move on from and not use as a weapon against the other. 

England just sighed before taking the Boston Tea Party mug.  Now he knew for sure that Tony was trying to provoke him.

England would just have to be the mature one here, and ignore the subtle jabs.

After awkwardly getting his tea (he’d forgotten about the attached cereal box and nearly knocked the whole kettle off the stove by accident), England kept an ear out for America waking up as he flipped the coffeemaker on and settled down to eat, deciding that Tony’s two little pranks could have been much worse. 

Unless that had just been the precursor to the main event.

Frowning, England cautiously sniffed his tea, and then sipped it.

Next thing he knew, he was coughing violently and resisting the urge to sneeze as he ingested a large amount of pepper.  Pepper that wasn’t supposed to even be in there.

 _All right then…_ He eyed his cereal suspiciously before pushing the bowl away.  After all, if the box was rigged, who was to say that the food itself had been tampered with as well?

Well, he supposed that the first order of business was to scour the kitchen and locate any more traps and deactivate them lest America fall right into them and Tony blame England for setting them.

He wouldn’t put it past Tony to do that.

England promptly stood up… and sat right back down when the chair went up with him.

Gritting his teeth, he mentally amended that the first order of business be that he free himself from the bloody chair and cereal box.

He awkwardly stood up so that he could comfortably walk (as comfortably as he could with a wooden chair stuck to his arse that is), and began making his way over to the counter again.  He was going to have to use the kitchen knife to cut the box off his hand (he couldn’t use magic one-handed), and then somehow remove the chair off of his rear (he’ll pay for a replacement) before going after Tony to end this nonsense.  With the knife of course.

 _Squish_.

He froze in his tracks, and then looked down to see what fresh hell Tony had left now.

Glue.  In large splotches all over the kitchen floor.  England just happened to be standing in the middle of one.

The coffeemaker beeped, but England ignored it.  Instead, he studied what he thought was a clean floor, noting that there was no pattern to the glue splotches, as though someone had covered themselves with it and rolled around all over the place – light green powder lined each splotch. 

_Meow._

England turned to the dining/living room entrance, and raised a bushy eyebrow in surprise.

Tony was very calmly emptying a jar that had the light green powder on several glue-free spots on the kitchen floor.  Then he set the empty catnip jar back on a shelf – England caught a glimpse of the label – before picking up the brush from a rubber cement pot.  Then he knelt by a trapped Britannia, who was already coated in the catnip, and began meticulously painting a fresh coat of glue all over the poor animal.  Once done, he set Britannia free.

The disgruntled cat immediately darted away from Tony only to stop by a fresh pile of catnip.  After sniffing the pile cautiously for a few minutes, the cat seemed to sigh happily before flopping down and rolling around in it, scattering catnip and spreading glue onto that patch of floor.

_That little…_

England moved to chase Tony, but stopped when he remembered that the chair was still stuck to his bottom.

_Enough of this nonsense._

England gritted his teeth before jumping backwards and falling, successfully shattering the chair against the floor, startling Britannia and sending the cat ducking under the table for cover.  Although his borrowed T-shirt (he hoped this one was washable) got stuck fast to the floor, England wiggled out of it without allowing his skin to touch the floor.  Tony was watching him carefully now, the glue brush in one hand and the pot in the other.  England was fully prepared to bet everything he owned that Tony had somehow doctored the cement to be odorless, probably at America’s request too.  The source of the alien’s power, England realized as he stood up again, was that thrice-damned workshop of his in America’s basement.

For a moment, neither of them did anything.

Then England simply _lunged_ for the alien.

Tony let out an unearthly screech before dropping the pot and brush, and running out of there altogether.  England just _knew_ he would have been able to catch the alien if not for two factors:

One: His socks were still stuck to the floor.

Two: A sticky Britannia chose that exact moment to make his bid for the freedom of the living room, tripping England up in the process.

_Whump!_

Although his entire front was now lying on the glue-covered floor, England somehow, by a stroke of luck, managed to keep his face off the booby-trapped floor.  He held his breath, wondering America had woken up from the racket.  Judging from the lack of sound upstairs, the git was probably still asleep.

Unfortunately, England was now stuck to the floor.  He couldn’t see Tony either, which made him feel not only wary, but powerless as well.

He finally (reluctantly) admitted to himself that he was going to need help.  He took a deep breath and bellowed, _“America!”_

_Crash!  Thump, thump, crash!_

_My hero_.  England thought dryly.  He sighed, and resigned himself to waiting as he heard America fall out of bed and stumble around the room in a blind panic, no doubt trying to dress himself and figure out what was wrong at the same time.  Then there was a rapid pounding sound as America tore down the stairs in a flying panic.

“England, what’s wro -”

England could only brace himself when he heard America trip and collapse into the gooey mess on the floor, landing partially on top of England, forcing a pained wheeze from the island nation.

America finally broke the silence.  “I didn’t think it was possible, but it looks like the coffee burned,” he said mournfully.

“How can you even tell?”

“The nose always knows.”  America shifted, propping himself up on his elbows, adding more weight to England’s back.  “Britannia got into Tony’s supplies again, didn’t he?”

 _You mean this isn’t unusual?  I’m going to kill that -_ “You mean this has happened before?” England asked irritably.

“Yeah.  Except last time, it was this weird radioactive gel that glowed bright green whenever it came into contact with UV rays.  Had to redo the entire kitchen in order to get rid of it all.  I also had to give Britannia a haircut, he looked like one of those sphynx cats that Egypt loves so much.  I couldn’t decide whether to feel bad or not for laughing when I finished his haircut.  He’s a short haired cat, remember?”

“Do you have a solution then, to get us out of this lovely mess?”

“Yeah, I always – dude, did you kill the kitchen chair or something?”

“Yes, and it will be the cereal box next,” England growled.  “I’ll pay for the chair replacement.”

“Don’t worry about it,” America said, rolling off of England, nearly crushing the latter’s legs.  “Yeah, it was definitely Britannia.  He got into the catnip again even though I put the jar on the cereal shelf,” he said as he carefully picked himself up.

England nearly rolled his eyes.  Tony really thought this one through.  “America, is the entrance to Tony’s workshop always unlocked?” he asked as he heard America carefully navigating the kitchen.

“Not usually when we have guests over.  Even though there’s no pet door, Britannia still occasionally gets in, so sometimes he leaves it unlocked and open until he’s absolutely sure that the cat isn’t downstairs,” America replied, turning the sink on and heating the water.  “He’s got a keycard to get in, and technically I’m supposed to have the spare in case he loses his, but I think I got it confused it with a Marriott hotel keycard the last time I was in Seattle.  I haven’t seen the workshop keycard since then.”

“How long ago was _that,_ dare I ask?”

“Eh, a couple months?  I was looking for the birthplace of Starbucks,” America replied nonchalantly.  He glanced back at the living room and whispered, “Tony doesn’t know that I’ve lost it either.”

 _Lovely_.  “Just help me up already,” England snapped.

“Easy there tiger.  This is rubber cement, so unless you want to endure painful skin-ripping, chill,” America said.

England fell quiet, choosing (wisely perhaps) to trust America this time instead of questioning him.  Besides, he was already forming a plan to disarm and blindside Tony all at once, and usually patience _always_ paid off.

 _Hurry up America, I have work to do_.


	6. Chapter 6

In all the excitement of that morning, Tony had forgotten that cats really knew how to hold grudges.

Britannia kept growling every time America got too close for comfort.

The cat – dry and free of glue – was sulking on top of the bookshelf, well out of America’s reach.  The nation, after freeing England and cleaning up the mess in the kitchen spent the next forty to fifty minutes hunting down and cornering the Scottish Fold in the mudroom.  Then, after a lovely struggle that lasted for twenty more minutes, America finally managed to get Britannia into the kitchen for a warm water bath; ever since the first time Britannia got into Tony’s workshop, Tony had been careful to use water-soluble materials in case the cat got into it again.  He’d had to tinker with the formula of several glue products in order to achieve this, but it had been a fun experiment anyway.

England meanwhile had retreated back upstairs, presumably to clean off from this morning’s debacle.  Considering it was several hours later, Tony was fully prepared that the self-proclaimed gentleman was actually sulking upstairs in an effort to garner America’s attention, sympathy, or both.  But unfortunately for him, America hadn’t seemed to notice his mood, and had gone upstairs after cleaning up from Britannia’s bath.

This left Tony on the living room couch, reading _The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,_ while enjoying an otherwise peaceful Saturday afternoon without the fucking limey bothering him.

“Hello, Britannia.  Feeling better now?”

_Damn you, Murphy._

Tony peered cautiously over the top of his book to find England standing near the bookshelf, stroking the Scottish Fold.  He rolled his eyes when England gently cooed to the cat and picked up the (now purring) little furry traitor – Tony had hoped that the cat would remain loyal to The Cause after this morning – before settling down on the couch, Britannia curling up in his lap.  For a moment, nothing happened; England was reading _Sign of Four_ while Tony was staring determinedly at his own book, doing his best to think about anything but how to strike at the bloody Englishman.  Tony couldn’t do it without provocation, so he couldn’t just throw his book at England and get the hell out of there before England could recover enough to retaliate.

A soft giggling sound caught his attention.  Confused, Tony looked down only to find to his surprise three tiny human girls with wings standing on top of his open book. 

Well, at first glance they looked like humans.  Examining them closer, Tony started noting the subtle (and the obvious) differences between humans and these creatures, such as wings, ear structures, and sharply defined facial features.  All three were wearing simple dresses of soft colors, and if they’d been human, they could have probably been sisters.

There was a moment of silence as both parties stared at each other for a few minutes.

The winged creatures – _fairies??_ – moved first, lightly zapping Tony on the nose before grabbing the book he’d reflexively dropped to shield himself from further attacks.  Swearing, Tony lunged for the floating book, but missed and landed face-first on the floor instead.

Laughing, the fairies flew higher, keeping the book just out of reach as Tony jumped (unsuccessfully) for it again, nearly colliding with England this time.  Swearing at the startled Englishman in his native language, Tony took off after his floating book, shrieking at the laughing fairies while the book disappeared around the corner and down the hall. 

Tony was so engrossed in the chase that as soon as he rounded the corner after the escaping book, he barreled straight into America.

“Whoa, easy there, buddy.  Did England threaten you or something?” he asked, steadying Tony before stepping back to scrutinize Tony.  “He didn’t hurt you or anything, did he?”

 _… yes and no_.  “No, there were fairies that took my book!” Tony snapped, frustrated that for once, he couldn’t pin this crime down on England.

America sighed, straightening up.  “Do not tell me you’re into fairies too,” he groaned, running a hand through his hair.  “Of all the things to rub off England and onto you, it had to be the stuff about the fairies.”

If this had been a movie or a story instead of reality, Tony knew that the audience could guess the only word that Tony actually registered: England.

That was when he noticed the book floating above America’s head.  “They took my book!” he blurted, pointing straight at the book.

Confused, America turned to his right, and then looked to the left.  But not up.  Tony swore he heard faint laughter from the fairies as they carefully kept an eye on America, ready to move the book out of view in the off chance he actually looked up.  Hands balling into fists, Tony could only watch in growing anger as America sighed and looked down at Tony, worry filling his eyes.

“Tony, fairies _aren’t_ real.  Either England is just messing with you like he does with me, or the two of you have been fooling me all along and since you’re actually friends, you both decided to pull a prank on me.  Which one is it?” America asked, placing his hands on his hips.

_“You think I’m friends with that -------- limey??”_

“No!  Sorry, sorry, my bad, I was just hypothesizing!” America yelped, jumping back despite his advantage in size and height.  Grinning, he suddenly asked, “Can you translate that word you just used into English?  I don’t know what you said in your language, but it sounded like a good swear…”

Tony face-palmed.  Of course America would be sidetracked so quickly.  Tony could still see his floating book drifting lazily down the hall, and even though he couldn’t quite see the fairies from this distance, he was absolutely sure they were mocking him now.  They would probably put his book in a hard-to-reach place just to spite him, especially since they were working for or with the limey.

“No,” he said crossly, and then stepped around America in order to continue pursuing his stolen book.

America just shrugged and kept walking.

Down the hall, around the corner and up the stairs Tony went.  The fairies, now that they were out of America’s nonexistent radar, seemed to suddenly swarm, multiplying several times in size before they started trying to zap him.  Swearing viciously, Tony briefly debated throwing things after them in the hopes of whacking one out of the air, but decided not too; he didn’t want America to think that he was completely off his rocker, and throwing objects and swearing at empty air was a surefire way to do that.

It took him five minutes to corner the fairies in the guest bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.  Cackling to himself, Tony clambered onto the bed, carefully watching the fairies as he found the flyswatter that America had accidentally left behind on the windowsill.  This was going to be the end of this complete nonsense…

He struck at the same time the fairies did.

To his credit, Tony managed to keep his yelps to himself and not give the fairies any kind of satisfaction.  Their spells and other magical attacks felt as though someone was trying to drive small needles into his arms and chest, but nothing absolutely disastrous (thankfully) happened.  He didn’t know whether he got any of the fairies, but figured he didn’t when he saw the hole burned into swatter.  Tossing it aside, he continued to fight as best as he could.

Unfortunately, he didn’t notice the fairies hovering above him with the book.

_Thunk._

Tony, momentarily dazed, stared at the white ceiling as tiny faces swam in and out of the edges of his vision.  He had no idea what the limey was playing at; the Englishman’s attacks so far had been more annoying than effective at driving Tony out of the house.  On the other hand, England seemed more concerned with staying under America’s radar than bothering Tony…

Unless he was waiting for a particularly nasty prank from Tony, one that _would_ catch America’s attention, and was just provoking Tony now.  Then he would play the role of the innocent, victimized bystander and _then_ Tony would _really_ get it.

Yeah, the English bastard would do that.  It was a low blow from a sneaky man, but if America’s stories about England’s pirating days were true, then it wasn’t that far off of a guess.

He had less than of a second to realize that something cordlike had wrapped around his ankle and _yanked_ him up into the air, leaving him dangling upside down as though a noose had caught his ankle.

“Oh, hello Tony.  Just hanging around, I see.”

That was it.  He was going to murder the Englishman, and _enjoy_ doing it.

England came into view as the invisible rope twisted, turning Tony to face the island nation as the latter came to a stop beside the bed, surrounded by his precious giggly fairies.  “Don’t worry, my dears, there will be plenty of opportunities for more fun later,” he said before focusing on Tony, who was forcing down a wave of nausea.  “But first,” England finally said, “I believe we have some unfinished business to take care of first.”

Tony gulped when England looked directly at him before kneeling slightly so that they were eye to eye.  He squirmed when England reached out for him.

Keeping his hand right below Tony’s head and just out of reach of flailing limbs, England said, “ _Accio, keycard_.”

Tony was about to scoff and mock the Englishman for reading too much _Harry Potter_ when he heard a faint clicking sound coming up the hall.  Confused, England turned to the hall as well, but smiled when a small object shot through the open door.  “Ah, you didn’t have it on you,” he said, catching the keycard in his fingers and studying it closely.  Tony felt slightly sick when he realized it was his workshop keycard.

“This morning taught me something Tony,” England said, examining the keycard.  “Your power here is your workshop, something that America said you always locked whenever you have guests over.  However, as touched, as I am to be the exception, I would like to enjoy the rest of my visit without constantly worrying for my safety.  So I am going to strip you of this power,” he said calmly, pocketing the keycard.  He nodded briefly to Tony and said, “The spell should wear off in thirty or so minutes, which gives me plenty of time to work and for you to think about how you want the rest of the weekend to go.”

Then, as though he’d finished scolding a child, England promptly turned on his heel and walked out of the room, his fairy entourage following him out and leaving Tony hanging there.

_That bastard!_

In a fit of sudden rage, Tony let out an ear-piercing wail of anger, swinging as he futilely tried to undo his bonds… bonds that he couldn’t even see or feel since the damn limey used _magic_ to tie him there in the first place.

His workshop!  The damn, damn, limey was locking Tony out of his workshop!  That… that was just _inexcusable._

_How dare he?_

Tony silently vowed to make England’s life a living hell until he left.

Sunday afternoon couldn’t get here fast enough.


	7. Chapter 7

“Has Tony been a nuisance this weekend?”

England looked up from his book and glanced over at America, who looked anxious.  “Of course not, love.  Has something happened to indicate that?”

“Uh, the kitchen from this morning?  Did Tony hurt you too badly with the glue and all?” America asked, pulling his glasses off and setting them down on the nightstand on his side of the bed.

“Don’t worry about it, love.  As your brother once said, ‘forgive, forget, and move on’,” England said before returning to his book.

America snorted as he settled down next to England, pulling the covers up to his waist and tugging it up slightly on England’s side.  He may have been tired, it had been a long day after all, but England knew full well from experience that the smirk on the American’s face promised more trouble anyway.  “You mean that during your piracy days, you ‘forgave, forgot, and moved on’ from France?” America asked cheekily.  He laughed softly and easily ducked England’s half-hearted swing.  “Either I’m getting better at dodging those, or you’re getting too old to put any real effort into those anymore.”

“Or maybe I don’t want to actually hit you because I save the real swings for your particularly stupid moments,” England growled.

“Then you must get bored often since I _never_ say anything stupid anymore.”

“Careful, you’re getting there.  That last comment is almost close enough qualify,” England warned, but failed to maintain his composure because America was laughing now, and England was still in a good mood from having successfully taken Tony’s blasted keycard, locking him out of that damn workshop for the rest of the visit.  It actually felt quite nice, being able to relax and not constantly worry and check over his shoulder constantly for a potential ambush.

Instead of immediately reacting to England’s scathing comment, America snuggled closer to the smaller nation, leaning on England’s shoulder and side.  He closed his eyes and pressed his nose against England’s neck as England continued to silently read.  Finally he said with a muffled voice, “There are times when I wish you could stay longer.  Like you used to do when I was younger.”

“I had a valid reason then, which was to take care of you,” England replied just as quietly without looking away from his book.

“And if I offered to give you one now?” America replied, dragging his fingers lightly down England’s exposed skin.

“Your boss and my boss would be rather concerned about that, once they both found out that I spent too much time here on your side of the world.  You’d need a pretty good reason for me to stay here without them causing too much of a fuss,” England said, looking down at his lover before America pulled himself back into an upright sitting position. 

“Here’s my reason then,” America said before leaning forward and kissing England deeply.

“That… that is a very convincing reason,” England said slowly after the two pulled apart.  “However, I don’t think I’m entirely convinced… yet.”

America’s blue eyes glittered at the unspoken offer.  “Really now, maybe I need to try with another, stronger reason,” he whispered before leaning in to kiss England again.  This time he didn’t pull away as quickly as he’d done the first time.

_Pop!_

“Oh bloody hell, what now?”

“Shut up, you’re killing the mood.  The light bulb just burned out.”

“You just killed the mood by – _mpf!”_

The silence settled all around the two of them, punctuated by whispers, soft laughs, and other quiet noises.  At one point, America let out a soft squeal as England easily found one of his ticklish spots, but the squeal soon dissolved into giggles almost immediately. 

“I’d forgotten how vocal you can be,” England murmured against America’s throat before flipping them both over, so that he was looking down at the younger nation in the dark. 

“I… I think that’s a sign we haven’t done this in a while,” America whispered.

“Don’t you _dare_ rip my T-shirt.”

“Aw, c’mon, how else am I supposed to get – oh, that also works.”

“Will you stop _giggling_?  We are _not_ thirteen year old girls –”

“D’aww, has someone already forgotten that one trip to Venice – ah, ah, okay, point made.”

England half-heartedly smacked America before he could start sniggering at his own unintentional innuendo.  “You are unusually chatty tonight, America.  That should be fixed before I allow this to continue,” he whispered before catching America’s lips for another deep kiss. 

“Aye, aye, Captain,” America whispered back before nuzzling England’s neck.  “In fact, we-”

_Creeeeak!_

“Who’s there?” America whispered harshly, yanking away from England and sitting up so fast that England was unceremoniously deposited on the bedspread. 

Silence.

“H-Hello?” America whispered, now fully alert and looking around.  Confused, England let his senses slowly cover the second floor, where the bedrooms were, before silently drifting down the stairs and spreading across the main floor, as he detected nothing harmful upstairs.  He only found one ghost downstairs, a harmless little thing huddled in America’s study as it clung desperately to its old Stars and Bars flag, something America continued to hold on to as a constant reminder of what could have happened.  As America fretted over (imaginary) invisible threats, England first calmed the scared spirit downstairs before trying to coax the long – gone personification to let go and move on.  The spirit proved to be stubborn, and threatened to provoke the other supernatural (hibernating) residents of the house if England didn’t leave it alone.  After this, England retreated, not wanting to accidentally cause America more pain, and he refocused on the panicking personification beside him. 

“America, America, calm down, there aren’t any ghosts in here, I promise.  The house was just settling, all old houses do that,” England said, trying his best to calm the nation down. 

“No, I swear I heard something else, something that was definitely _not_ the house settling,” America whispered back furiously.  “It sounded like… there it is again!”

England heard a soft yet distinctive moan, and it was coming from the master bathroom.  America’s eyes meanwhile were fixed on the bedroom door.

“America, first off, it is _not_ a ghost.  I assure you, there are no ghosts in this room!” England whispered back furiously.  “And the sounds are not even coming from the hall-”

Just like that, America’s attention turned straight to the bathroom door in time for them both to hear another moan that ended in a faint growl.  “What was that?” he whispered, blue eyes moving rapidly as though searching the cracks of the door in the frame for any clues as to the entity on the other side.  Leaning over, he fumbled with the lamp and tried to switch the light back on, but the two nations only heard a faint clicking sound.  “Power’s out!” America squeaked, his voice bordering on hysteria.

_Ladies and gentlemen, may I please present the proud United States of America?_

Besides, that growling sounded oddly familiar, now that England thought about it.

“America, wait,” England said, the pieces falling into place in his head.  He reached for America’s shoulder as he said, “It’s only –”

He never got to finish.

The bathroom door exploded open in a flash of dark green light and an indecipherable roar of sound, smoke-like fog billowing out of the room.  For a split second, England saw a tall, shadowy figure with great, distorted limbs and a grotesque head standing in the doorway.  America was long gone; his flight response had kicked in as soon as the figure appeared, leaving England to face the flying monstrosity that _flew_ out of the bathroom.  England unfortunately didn’t get a chance to summon any defensive magic right as the creature landed on his face, claws extended.

_Rrrrraaoow!_

“Cat!” England bellowed in surprise as Britannia’s weight sent him flying backwards.  Luckily, he’d been sitting on the edge of the bed so that when Britannia landed, he didn’t fall off the bed on the other side.  He did however hit his head on the edge of the mattress, eliciting a string of curses as the cat yowled in anger.

With a final hiss, Britannia jumped down to the floor and tore out of the room altogether, leaving scratches on England’s face and trailing water out of the room.

England however, was still furious, and he knew exactly who to blame.  “I swear, once I get my hands on that wretched alien…” he growled as he pulled himself up and charged toward the master bathroom.  “I’ve got you now-”

He stopped after flicking the bathroom lights on.

Nothing was out of place.

Completely suspicious now, England searched the room for any signs of abnormal activity.  The only ‘suspicious’ thing he could find however was that the showerhead was still dripping, as though someone had used it within the last ten to fifteen minutes.

England groaned and put a hand over his eyes, only to flinch when his fingers landed on still sensitive cuts from Britannia’s claws.  While the cuts did sting like hell, it was still nice to have some kind of proof that the whole incident did happen and England hadn’t imagined anything or worse: sleepwalked.

Which meant that America was still downstairs, no doubt terrified out of his wits.

England pinched the bridge of his nose.  He’d hoped that it wouldn’t have come down to this, but Tony wasn’t giving him any other choice. 

But, there were more important things first.  America still needed comfort.

And England knew exactly how to write this incident off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are now caught up to the same place that I'm currently on in both the kink meme and on ff.net. Update will hopefully be coming soon.


	8. Chapter 8

It was early morning when America finally stumbled into the kitchen for breakfast, reappearing from the living room where he’d spent the night on the couch, too scared to go back upstairs.  England, because there hadn’t been any room for him too, had reluctantly returned back upstairs once he was confident that America wasn’t going to have nightmares.  The rest of the night had progressed smoothly.

It was Sunday morning.

America and England hadn’t had any kind of ‘alone time’.  All weekend.  And England was leaving in a couple hours.

Tony felt like laughing long and hard. 

He won.  _He’d freaking won!_   He’d beaten the limey in the strange little game of theirs.  He’d beaten the one nation that _supposedly_ was a pirate and a cheat (okay, that showed up once or twice), but most importantly did not lose at a battle.  He’d beaten the nation that once ruled around _eighty-five percent_ of the world (sun never set on the British Empire and all that crap).  He’d won!  He’d beaten the unbeatable!  He’d –

“Tony, are you okay?  You’re starting to freak me out a little,” America said from his place of safety by the coffeemaker, breaking into Tony’s victorious thoughts. 

Tony turned and stared at him, and then looked down to find that he was standing on top of the kitchen table with both his arms still in the air in a dual victory pump.  Scrambling to find a reasonable answer that did not include the phrase ‘ _I just beat England!’_ Tony looked around quickly and was pleased to find his excuse lying underneath the fridge, the corner poking out.  “Superman!” he replied, quickly jumping down and yanking the comic book out from its hiding place.

“Yeah, he’s one of my favorites too,” America replied with a smile as he accepted the comic book from Tony.  “This is an older issue though, do you have any of the newer ones?”

“No, no time to get them,” Tony replied mournfully.  And it was true; because of the freaky Area 51 goons that were forever lurking around the place, Tony was usually too scared to leave the house to get a comic book (offensive really, since although Tony was more advanced than the buffoons in blue suits, he just happened to know a good source of authority when he saw one).  America was also forever too busy to go with him during the week, and the reason for not going this weekend was painfully obvious (and apparently still sleeping upstairs, if America was to be believed).  Putting on his best ‘pity me’ face, he looked up at America, and said, “Can we go now?”

“Sure!  I just have to grab my jacket and leave Arthur a note, I don’t want him to wake up and panic just because we’re gone,” America said, reaching over to a pad of sticky notes and jotting a note down with a dying pen. 

“Do we have to?” Tony asked, crossing his arms.

“Common courtesy, Tony.  Even if he wasn’t a guest and actually lived here, I’d still leave a note,” America replied as he stuck the sticky note onto the glue-free teakettle.  “Just so he doesn’t panic, that’s all.”

 _‘Does it look like I care about the limey’s mental health?  No?  Then I must not care,’_ Tony thought darkly as America reached for his jacket.  He didn’t understand why America continued with societal niceties with such a diabolical nation, the guy used to be a frigging _pirate_ for God’s sake!  You could take the man out of piracy, but you could never take piracy out of the man.  _DUH!_

“All right buddy, let’s go,” America said, smiling as he grabbed the Mazda car keys and headed outside, Tony close behind him.

The trip turned out to be liberating.  Granted, Tony did leave the house yesterday evening for the fireworks show, but it was nice to go somewhere where he didn’t have to behave or otherwise put on a godforsaken show just to be able to live in the country without fearing for his safety.  He stared outside the car window as America drove, taking in the sights that he’d missed after being cooped up in America’s house for the last couple weeks.  America himself had been running around between Congressional meetings, World meetings, and any other prior commitments that Tony couldn’t remember off the top of his head.  Despite his status as a semi-national secret, there were a few humans that were well aware of Tony’s existence… and didn’t panic from it. 

Ed the comic shop owner and clerk was one of those individuals.

“Hiya Jones!  We’ve missed you!” Ed shouted cheerfully as Tony and America walked in.  He was still unaware of America’s true identity, but Tony kept the secret just like American did.  “I saved the latest updates of your favorites!”

“Please tell me that Superman is one of them, Tony’s been lacking in updates,” America replied, nudging Tony forward.

“Yep, I saved a bunch in the back for Tony.  I’ll get your _Avengers, Captain America, Batman,_ and _Spider-Man_ issues as well, they’re all in the back,” Ed said.

America stopped.  “How long as it been since we were last here?” he asked, confused.

Ed grinned.  “Three months, you little rat.”

America snorted while Tony face-palmed.  “And here I thought I was being pro-active by getting all that paperwork on time as opposed to at my leisure.  Whoops,” America said, grinning broadly.  Nudging Tony, he said, “Go with Ed and get the comic books, I’ll just browse.”

Tony saluted, much to America’s delight.

“Cute,” Ed said.  Glancing around the store, he yelled, “Carla!  Front needs watching while I help a customer!  Where the hell are ya?”

“Right here sir, assisting another customer,” Carla said irritably, coming out from behind the bookshelves of comic books, a woman and her daughter right behind her.  The woman had her hands over her daughter’s ears, and looked somewhat disgruntled as Ed left the counter in Carla’s charge.  Tony was careful to stay away from the other little girl; his yearly quota of tolerating little kids had been used completely up on Friday night. 

America browsed near the manga, and Tony wondered if he was looking for that one manga that Japan had recommended, the one by someone named Hidekaz Himaruya or something like that.  It was rarely in the shops that the two of them went to, but that didn’t stop America from looking.

“Here Jones, all the ones you’ve been waiting on,” Ed said cheerfully, coming back with a box.  “You know, I swear I’ve been emailing you each time there’s a new issue…”

“Yeah, sorry, I’ve been either busy or overseas lately, and I had a guest last night,” America replied, taking the box from Ed. 

“Hey, it’s all right, I just barely see you is all,” Ed replied cheerfully as he returned to the counter while America handed the oldest Superman issue to Tony, who eagerly began to read it. 

“Yeah, I try to drop by when I can, but you know, duty calls,” America said as he stepped up to the counter to pay, the woman and daughter disappearing back into the shelves with Carla.  “Well, is that it?” he asked as Ed placed the books into a bag. 

“Yep.  Don’t be a stranger, Jones.  I get lonely after a while and Carla can only irritate me so much,” Ed said, winking as he handed the bag over to America, who offered it to Tony, but held onto it anyway when the alien failed to notice.  “Think of this as incentive.  If you come more frequently, the bag won’t be as heavy when you leave.”

“Good logic, but no promises.  I have to leave the country again in January, heading over to Berlin for diplomatic meetings.  Tedious, but I only pay attention because the host pays for drinks afterwards,” America said, winking conspiratorially.  “But that’s later.  See ya again soon, Ed,” he said, starting to guide an oblivious Tony toward the comic shop door.

Tony was so absorbed into his Superman comics that he didn’t really notice the ride home.  He’d wished DC had kept the heroes’ original costume designs; he’d preferred Wonder Woman’s original costume anyway.  The nice thing about having the bag at his feet was that he could just keep reading and pulling out the next issue once he was done with the one he’d been reading. 

“Dude, did you just power through all of the Superman issues?” America teased as he pulled into the driveway. 

“They were good, but still in the reboot costumes,” Tony said, stuffing the most recent Superman comic back into the bag. 

America made a face.  “While I like some of the redesigns, like Wonder Woman’s getup, I’m not a fan of others,” he said as he turned the car off and pulled the key out of the ignition.  “Did you eat earlier?  How does some breakfast sound?  Maybe Arthur’s up too,” he said as he got out of the car, completely missing Tony’s triumphant expression. 

Victory tasted sweet.  Unlike England’s cooking.  _Very_ unlike England’s cooking.

“Okay, so long as you’re cooking,” Tony replied.

America snorted.  “Fine.”

The two of them entered the house, and Tony just _knew_ that England was awake; the gag-inducing smell of tea permeated the front hall all the way from the kitchen.  America hummed to himself as he dropped the bag of comics by the front door, cricking his neck before hanging his coat up.  “Arthur!  We’re back!” he called as he took Tony’s jacket and hung that up as well. 

“And where exactly have you been?”

“Out, getting-” America began as he turned, but stopped when he saw England.  “Sir,” he added carefully even as a hopeful grin crossed his face.  Confused, Tony stopped in the hall on the way to the kitchen.

England was standing halfway down the staircase, dressed in _completely_ unfamiliar clothing.  He looked like one of the pirates in Tony’s books, in the red coat with gold buttons and the hat and-

_Oh no, don’t you fucking dare, I WON!_

Tony came back to reality right as England was ‘requesting’ negotiations for some reason or another, and America was responding while remaining in character, and it just _hit_ Tony as to what they were doing. 

He wasn’t stupid, he’d read about how humans entertained themselves in the bedroom, and was greatly disturbed to find that his housemate apparently engaged in similar behavior with England.  Even as America bounded up the stairs perhaps a little too enthusiastically for the scenario the two of them had created – something about English pirates targeting American ships and vice versa – Tony could only see his victory slipping away and out of his fingers.  _No, no, no, no, no-_

And the worst part was that England _knew_.  The limey spared him a smirk before blatantly creating something of a magical barrier that he easily passed through while Tony just knew that it would keep him from going upstairs.  He even tested it, bolting up the stairs once England had passed through.  Tony smacked into the barrier, and _howled_ when he fell back. 

An indescribable rage filled Tony then, and he tore downstairs and was about to go outside to properly vent his anger (and hopefully find something of England’s down there to destroy).  But he was even more enraged to find that there was in fact nothing of England’s he could actually destroy. 

Pacing the room, he searched every bookshelf, every knickknack shelf, for something that belonged to England.  Something he could tear to little pieces.

He did find a book that had fallen off the shelf, _A History of US_ , by Joy Hakim, knocked over in Britannia’s escape from whatever the horror had been at the time.  Picking it up, he examined the page it was open to, and was about to toss it back to the floor when the word _Yorktown_ caught his eye.

Upon closer examination, he found that the chapter he was in was primarily focused on the battles of the American Revolution, with the Battle of Yorktown specifically on the current page.  Flipping to the beginning of the chapter, he vaguely recalled America ranting about how much of a jerk and a tyrant England had been back then, and how _glad_ America had been to break free of English control. 

It was too bad Tony couldn’t duplicate the same Revolutionary England and prompt another hundred or so years of isolation between the two nations.  It wouldn’t even be that complicated, just somehow switch England of the past with England of the now, and then once the damage was done, switch them back.  Granted, it meant he would have to be in close quarters with the two Englands for a while, but the end result would be worth it.

Sighing, he closed the history book and set it on the coffee table.  Too bad it was impossible to rewind and fast-forward time as he saw fit.

_Or was it?_

He suddenly remembered his newly returned time-traveling device downstairs, still lying on the workshop table where he’d been tinkering with it.  Granted, it still needed a little adjusting, but Tony figured he could use it just this once.  After all, this did classify as an emergency.

Tony promptly left the house altogether; he’d have to access his workshop through the cellar doors, but he finally had a plan that would separate America and England once and for all. 


	9. Chapter 9

“…and I’ll just be gone for a little while, I have to drop Arthur off at the airport and then I have to do a quick grocery shopping trip to get Tony’s reward for good behavior,” America said, tucking the phone in between his ear and shoulder as he dug through the kitchen drawers for where he’d last left the keys.  Then he remembered he’d left them in the front hall.  “Once I get back, I _swear_ I’ll get back to those proposals, I’ll have them ready for Wednesday’s meeting… Jess, _breathe_.  Contrary to popular opinion, I _always_ know what I’m doing… ha, ha, love you too, good-bye,” he said cheerfully before hanging up the phone.  He checked his watch, and then asked, “Arthur, almost ready?”

“Of course, love.  I printed my boarding passes while you were still gone this morning,” England said, double-checking his carry-on bag to make sure his passport was still there; Tony had slunk off somewhere that morning before America and England finally came down after a satisfying morning, and the alien had yet to reappear.  England knew he wasn’t going to relax anyway until after he was already on the road to the airport.  “Oh, bloody hell,” he said, examining the second boarding pass.

“What is it?” America asked, pausing as he reached for the house keys. 

“Layover in Dublin.  Two hours.   I try to avoid layovers when I can, but sometimes it’s unavoidable.  Two hours is plenty of time for Erin to come prowling by,” England said, stuffing the boarding pass back into his bag.

“I thought you and Erin patched things up,” America said, frowning as he walked inot the living room from the kitchen in order to let an unhappy Britannia out into the backyard.  England watched as the other nation picked up something off the ground, setting his phone on the black iron patio table in order to better reach the object. 

“We did, to an extent,” he said, answering America’s earlier question as other nation came back inside.  “We still take care with our foreign relations.  It’s just that she gets suspicious every time I pass through her country and stay for longer than what she deems necessary.”  He tilted his head and asked, “Do you have everything?”

“ _Now_ I do,” America said as he snatched the car keys off the table right next to the sliding glass doors.  He paused and then asked, “Are you sure you can’t stay a little longer?”

“I’m sorry, love.  There are still matters I must attend to back home.  We can still Skype if you want,” England assured him with a smile.  He brushed some of America’s bangs out of the other’s blue eyes.  “You’ll need a haircut soon.”

America made a face.  “I don’t know, I’m kind of missing the long hairstyle I had back in the seventies,” he teased.

England made a face.  “That wasn’t my favorite hairstyle.  Or era, come to think of it.”

America laughed.  “Seriously?  You weren’t complaining at the time,” he teased as he grabbed his jacket before helpfully taking England’s suitcase.

England sniffed in disdain.  “And I’m quite glad those days are over.  You cannot imagine how mortified I was when I came back to my senses and looked at those awful photographs,” he said as he followed America out of the house and to the car.

“Next time that pompous Holmes guy starts bothering you again, shock him into silence with those photographs, which I _know_ you still have,” America said, winking.

England scowled.  “I wouldn’t dare.  Aside from the fact he’d try to steal them to blackmail me with them, he’d also suspect me even more of being not what I claim to be.  He and his brother are too observant for their own good,” he said as he got into the passenger side of the car.  He usually refused to drive in the United States if he could help it, and today was no exception.  “I’m still trying to trap Holmes so I can have him kicked out of the government.”

America grimaced.  “He’s that bad?” he asked as he started the car and pulled out of the driveway.

“No, he’s that _annoying_ ,” England complained, relaxing in his seat.  The more distance he got from the missing Tony, the better.

“Is he at least an efficient politician?” America asked, glancing at the older nation.

“Why do you think I hate him so much?  He’s efficient, ruthless, has the best interests of Queen and country at heart… _but he’s so damn determined to get me fired_!” England said crossly, gesturing wildly in frustration.

America couldn’t help it; he started laughing, and only laughed harder when England hit him on the shoulder.  “Kind of reminds me of the time that the Chief of Staff for the Department of Homeland Security was still a newcomer to the administration, and didn’t think I was capable of doing my job.  Barack had to step in on my behalf, discreetly of course,” America said, shrugging with one shoulder.

“Parliamentary sessions always turn into a bloody circus, I feel like it’s a miracle we’re able to get anything done,” England said, shaking his head in dismay.

“Then you haven’t seen Congress in action yet… or rather lack thereof.  I’ve sat in a Parliament session before, and it was kind of hilarious to watch you and Holmes trying to tear each other’s throat out while smiling and using fancy language.  I feel like Congress on the other hand drags an issue out onto the floor, and then beat it around until it’s dead… and then don’t make a decision about it.  It’s frustrating,” America said tiredly.

England was silent for a moment.  Then he asked, “When the bloody hell did you sit in on a Parliamentary session, and how in God’s name _did you get in and not get caught?_ ”

America shrugged.  “Mattie and I were looking for you, and we sort of just followed you in.  Turns out Mattie’s invisibility can extend to people he’s traveling with, and I was quiet.  Although we both almost got thrown out at one point, we couldn’t stop snickering when once you and Holmes started going at,” he said as he turned onto the ramp that would lead to the short stretch of highway to the airport.  “Hey, I do have a serious question though.”

“Go right ahead,” England calmly replied.

“Right.  Did Tony at least leave you alone?  Or otherwise not give you any trouble?  I asked him to leave you alone for the duration of the trip, and he promised,” America said anxiously.  “I know I asked you last night about Tony’s behavior, but it occurred to me this morning while we were at the comic shop that you might have said yes only because we were still near Tony and I didn’t want you to feel under duress from fear of Tony’s retribution just because, y’know, he was in the house and you were in the house -”

“Love, don’t worry.  He behaved just fine, although I would recommend giving him an outlet for his energy, something that doesn’t involve staying within the confines of your property.  He might be less of a handful that way,” England said, glancing at America, who sighed.

“I swear to God I try.  The main problems are the Area 51 officials, and their superior doesn’t know about the truth about Tony or me.  My hands are tied, as are Barack’s.  I’ve been trying to come up with a solution to this for almost forty years now, really the only time I don’t worry about him is whether we’re in Alaska or Hawaii, primarily because the Area 51 guys prefer the continental U.S.  It’s driving me crazy,” America said, shaking his head.

“Don’t he and Rita get along well?  Why not have Rita visit more often?  I know that the two of them play extensively at the World Meetings on the few times you’ve brought Tony, have her up north more often.” England suggested, thinking of the young personification of the territory of Puerto Rico. 

“Because Isabella is like an overprotective big sister just because they both were under Antonio’s rule together for so long.  Isabella interpreted that as Rita being her responsibility, so she’s always trying to hover when Rita comes up to visit,” America replied.

“But Puerto Rico is an _American_ territory, under the jurisdiction of a country that is on very, very fragile terms with Mexico,” England pointed out.  “Use that as you will.”

America smirked.  “I’ll keep that in mind.  Although, if I remember correctly, Rita will be coming this week anyway with her ambassador, talks of statehood have come up again recently, especially since it’s a presidential election this year,” he said.  He hesitated, and then said, “I don’t know how I feel about that.  On one hand, I’m excited to have Puerto Rico possibly join, but on the other, well, I’ve seen what happens to the personifications of the territories that have been absorbed into the Union.”

England just nodded in silence. 

They pulled up to the drop-off area of the airport, and America was already calculating the risks involved with kidnapping England for another week when England said, “Don’t even think about it, unless you want the Prime Minister to contact your boss about a ransom.”

“Yeah, that would be hard to explain,” America said, sticking his lower lip out in a silent plea.  “C’mon, just three more days…”

“Now, now, don’t look at me like that.  We can Skype sometime over the week when we both have a moment,” England said, smiling sadly as he fussed with America’s hair like he used to do whenever he was about to leave for home when America was still a colony.  “I can call you if you want before I board,” he offered.

America shook his head, looking a little sheepish.  “Sorry, no dice, I left my phone at home on the patio table when I went to let Britannia out,” he admitted as he placed the car in park, but kept the engine on.

England smiled before cuffing America gently on the back of the head.  “Git.  But I still love you so very much.  You know that, right?” he said quietly, his green eyes searching America’s blue.

“Of course I do,” America whispered back before leaning closer and kissing England.

America started to reach for the gearshift, committed to kidnapping England as long as possible when England caught his hand.  “Nice try, love.  But if I don’t leave now, you can’t barrel me over at the next World Conference in five months,” he said, winking.

“As much as I love the idea, I really don’t want to wait five months,” America whined softly.  At England’s eye roll, America sighed and then asked, “Who is hosting this time?”

England braced himself before he said, “Isabella.  She hasn’t had a chance to host it before, and I expect you to be on your best behavior then.”

“I don’t know, will you be flying into D.C. and we’ll go together in a kickass road trip?” America asked hopefully.

“Git.  I’ll have to check my schedule first, then I’ll call once I figure something out,” England said, opening his car door.  “Now I really have to go, until next time,” he said, before leaning in and kissing America.

America then watched in sad silence as England gathered his bags and then shut the car doors, waving once England when made eye contact with him.  Then he watched in silence as England turned and left.

He waited until he couldn’t see England anymore before sighing to himself in the empty car.  Then he turned his left blinker on and slipped back into traffic leaving the airport.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ONE MORE CHAPTER! Don't disappear on me, you might not want to miss this one... ;)


	10. Chapter 10

“Tony, I’m hoooo-oome!” Alfred called out cheerfully as he pushed the front door open, grocery bags draped on his arm.

_Crash!_

Alfred grimaced at the sound of something heavy hitting the floor.  “Dude, I hope for your sake that wasn’t the vase that Mrs. Madison gave me back in 1816 as a gift,” he added, his voice carrying down the hall as there were the sounds of someone scrambling as though to hide.  “Two thi- Tony?  Where are you?  Tony?  You’re still here right?  And didn’t let any strangers in again?” he asked anxiously, suddenly realizing that he hadn’t seen the alien all afternoon.  If he’d gotten into Arthur’s luggage with the sole intent of pissing the Englishman off, Alfred was the one who was going to pay dearly.

“Over here,” Tony said, appearing in the doorway that led from the front hall to the kitchen.

“Geez, you had me worried there for a moment,” Alfred said, placing the keys on the hook next to the door before setting the grocery bags down so he could hang up his jacket.  “Anyway, like I said.  Two things.  One, I’ve got the pepperoni pizza pockets as according to our agreement on Friday night,” he said, dangling the bag so Tony could see the red-yellow patterned boxes through the plastic.  “But _two_ ,” he added, holding the bag out of reach so Tony would focus on him for a few minutes.  “I think that Arthur was being nice about it, because I’m not stupid.  I know the kitchen wasn’t an accident,” he said as he walked into the kitchen and pulled one box out and handed it to Tony.  The other went into the freezer. 

Tony sniffed in disdain as he pulled the pizza pockets out to stick into the toaster oven.  “Not my fault he walked into the cat trap,” he said.

“Speaking of cats, did Britannia come in?” Alfred asked, stepping into the living room and noting the still puffy-tailed cat perched on the bookshelf.  “Okay, cat, check.  Phone, check,” he said, noting with happiness his iPhone sitting on top of the coffee table.  Picking it up, he turned it on and punched in the four-digit passcode before spotting the waiting text message.  He smiled as he read it, and then sighed as he set the phone back down.  “Y’know Tony, I really appreciate it when you put up with Arthur when he comes over.  Even when I was still a colony, he couldn’t stay as long as I wanted him to.  Those were lonely years, waiting for him to come back,” he said, flopping down onto the couch.  He hesitated, and then said, “Declaring independence was one of the hardest decisions I had to make, but as Arthur said, our first duty is to our people, and my people were suffering under British rule.  So I don’t regret any of it.”

“I thought you cut diplomatic ties,” Tony said, tilting his head in confusion.

“Yeah, _completely_.  It wasn’t for another hundred or so years before we spoke to each other again, and even then it was out of absolute necessity.  As for the fifties, well, that was still rocky because for starters, he was still refusing to admit that I had to save his butt a _second_ time, and then there was Ivan to worry about.”  He stopped, and then said, “Come to think of it, I still have to worry about him, don’t I?”

Tony shrugged half-heartedly.  “Jessie called,” he said after a moment, nodding to the still blinking answering machine.

“Did she?  She’s probably still mad at me for the truncated phone call before I dropped Arthur off at the airport,” Alfred said, studying the numbers on the machine.  “Who else called?”

“Rita wants to stay here while she’s in town with her ambassador, and Mathias can’t finish our game because Gilbert is going to Vash’s house tomorrow.  Something about a girl.  Mathias meanwhile is going to Lukas’s house, and will be hanging out there for the next couple of days,” Tony reported as he went back into the kitchen to get his pizza pockets.  Coming back in to find Alfred picking up books from the floor, he asked, “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning up.  I swear I didn’t leave these books on the floor before I left,” Alfred said, picking up _A History of US_.  He paused to look at the page that it had been left open to.  “Ah, Appomattox Courthouse.  I still remember having to escape Washington D.C. in order to properly end the war with… with him,” he said quietly, closing the book and putting it on top of the stack of books.  “Did you tear through my history section or something?” he asked, frowning as he examined the titles. 

“Sorry, there was a fly,” Tony said, his red eyes carefully following Alfred around the room as the nation put the books back on the shelf where they belonged. 

Alfred paused by the thick Webster’s Dictionary that was still sitting on the floor.  “Was this what fell earlier?” he asked, picking it up and starting a new pile.

“Cat knocked _that_ one over,” Tony said, ignoring the soft hiss from Britannia.

“Yeah, thanks for letting her in.  I think Mrs. Nelson next door has been parked outside the border between our yards ever since I turned a blind eye to that annoying little terrier of hers, y’know, the one that disappeared on our property a few years ago,” Alfred said, setting the books down to stuff the dictionary back onto the shelf.  “Of course, she’s been trying to have me committed to the asylum ever since.”

“At least she doesn’t have cats,” Tony pointed out.

Alfred shuddered.  “Unlike what’s-her-name from San Diego.  Still trying to forget that one, I didn’t even know you could train cats to do attack people like that.  At least Animal Control was on speed-dial,” he said, shuddering at the memory. 

“Can we train Britannia to attack people?” Tony suddenly asked, perking up at the thought.

Alfred sighed.  “We can’t on the sole principle that I always have too many guests over here frequently.  Rita and Mattie for example,” he said, closing the living room’s red curtains before turning and heading over to the couch.  “And –”

_Thunk!_

Alfred froze at the muffled sound, especially when he glanced over to find that both Britannia and Tony were in the room with him.  “Intruders?” he whispered to Tony, who nodded silently.

Sighing, Alfred rubbed his forehead before turning to face the front hall.  The last time he’d had burglars in here, he’d startled them enough for them to shoot him.  Since he couldn’t technically die, he always got to see the priceless expressions on their faces when he grunted and pulled himself back to his feet.  So while there wasn’t an issue with burglars, it was always a pain to wash the blood out of his clothes afterwards.  “All right guys, you have two minutes to come out from wherever you’re hiding.  I’m feeling generous today, so if you show up and return everything you’ve taken, I’ll give you a five minute head start before I call the cops,” he said, reaching for the Webster dictionary to use as a weapon if necessary.  He hadn’t lied to Arthur when he said that the dictionary had its uses, and using it to wallop others counted.  “I’ve got a lot of work to do tonight, and you’re only going to make me cranky if I’m up late because you delayed me.”

_Clunk!_

“C’mon, contrary to popular opinion, I’m not stupid,” Alfred shouted.  “Don’t make me come and get you!”  He started advancing to the hall closet (out of all the hiding places in the house, they picked the most obvious?), the dictionary gripped tightly in his hands.

‘ _Oh, but my dear America, would you truly treat an old friend in such a harsh manner?’_

Alfred felt his blood run cold at the soft male voice that seemed to come from everywhere.  “Did you hear that?” he asked, glancing back at Tony.

Tony tilted his head in confusion.  “Hear what?” he asked.

 _Shit_.

Alfred swallowed nervously.  Arthur had already left and had promised he hadn’t left any magicked things behind.  So he settled on the next logical explanation.  “H-Ha, ha, _ha_ , Mattie.  Good one, you almost had me there,” he said, lowering the dictionary as he took several deep breaths to calm himself.  “I can’t believe you’re still mad about-”

 _‘Guess again, little America,_ ’ the voice sang softly through the room.  Alfred jumped and held the dictionary up again, blue eyes frantically searching for the source.  Tony was still calmly eating his pizza pockets as though he hadn’t heard anything, and was watching _Animal Planet_ now, albeit with the volume muted.  Alfred turned back around right as the voice added, _‘I can only be one person… or entity.”_

Alfred’s mind suddenly flashed back to the night before, when that ghostly monstrosity had burst out of his bathroom.  Oh, why oh why did the goddamn ghost have to come back _after_ Arthur left the house?  Why couldn’t ghosts just very well _leave him alone_?  “S-Show yourself!” he shouted angrily… or at least tried to.  It came more as a squeak, something that Alfred mentally denied ever having made in the first place.

Soft, cold laughter.  _‘Oh, but America, there’s nothing to show but your deepest regrets.’_

Deepest regrets?  As a nation, Alfred had accumulated a lot of deep regrets over the years, things he shouldn’t have done, times when he should have stepped in to defend his people, but what could possibly be his deepest regret-

_Oh._

Negotiating with a ghost was never Alfred’s strength.  His usual interactions with ghosts were usually those of the dead soldiers who couldn’t move on until they said their last words to family and friends back home, and Alfred, for the most part, didn’t mind writing their diction because they were his, they’d sacrificed themselves for him, and he owed them that small comfort.  Negotiations usually came in when there was a sprite or some other malicious little creature that was wreaking havoc on the general population and Arthur wasn’t otherwise available at a moment’s notice to come deal with it (this happened more frequently than not). 

But even in life, the personification of the Confederacy States of America had been stubborn and difficult to deal with.  Despite that, if he could, Alfred would have spared the other’s life, to live as a human if need be.  But the unwritten, unspoken rules that governed the personifications had caused the other to disappear once the two halves merged once again.   Alfred never questioned it because even Wang Iao did not have an answer as to how there could be two Italian personifications but only one for the United States. 

Confederacy as a ghost was going to be a hell of a spirit to deal with.  Alfred had always suspected that the spirit clung on, gave Alfred another reason _not_ to toss the old Stars and Bars flag that he kept in the study, other than to serve as a reminder of what could have happened, and as a warning for the future.

“Confederacy,” he began slowly, lowering the dictionary even as his heart hammered in his ears.  “There’s no reason to start anything, the war’s been over for more than a hundred years-”

‘ _Why did you let me die?  Why did you leave me for dead when you spoke of brotherhood and reuniting in peace?’_

“Confederacy, we both knew that it was all or nothing,” Alfred said, slowly backing away toward the sliding glass doors… just in case Confederacy turned violent.  Angry ghosts were not something he particularly liked dealing with.  “One of us had to go, and I know Arthur liked you more at the time, but I think that’s what made me the most scared about losing.”

Actually, he hated dealing with ghosts in general, but sometimes, like now, it was unavoidable.

 _‘Did it never occur to you that I might have been just as frightened?’_   The voice was mocking now.  ‘ _Daddy liked me best after all._ ’

“Yeah, because he was scared about losing the lucrative cotton trade,” Alfred muttered under his breath.  His fingers found the doorknob, and he paused there, setting the dictionary down; he wouldn’t be able to run far while lugging a thick book with him.  “You on the other hand… I don’t know how much he cared about you personally, but hey, why don’t you ask him when I get him?” he asked in a falsely cheerful voice.

Confederacy evidently had enough.

 _‘NO!  I WILL DESTROY YOU FIRST!’_ it boomed across the house before dissolving into mocking laughter full of promises of cold vengeance.

Alfred didn’t stick around for that part.

Nearly yanking the door completely off the hinges in his haste to escape, he bolted into the yard before realizing he was about to get boxed in.  “ _MATTIE!”_ he yelled frantically before bolting between his house and the neighbor’s for the street.  “ _MATTIEEEE!”_

Tony watched in guilty silence as the terrified nation tore down the street on foot… in the wrong direction of the American/Canadian border, but Alfred would still find a way to get to his brother’s house and no doubt set up semi-permanent residence before the limey, the _real_ one, could be bothered to return and deal with the ‘ghost’ that was currently cackling now…from the hall closet.

Sighing, Tony slumped in his seat, ignoring the phone as it rang.  Actually, he acknowledged it long enough to pick it up and then promptly hang it up again.  He was in the middle of a crisis as it was, and Mrs. Nelson next door did not need to get involved beyond her usual fretting of Alfred’s mental health.

Besides, Tony was kind of screwed anyway.  The only way this could be good would be if he’d dreamed the last twelve to twenty-four hours.

“More than two hundred years later, and you’re _still_ afraid of ghosts?”

“Apparently.”

Nope, not a dream.  Reality was a bitch.

Tony summoned his courage and peeked over the edge of the couch back in order to watch his latest error in action.  He’d gone back in time all right, back to the eve of Yorktown. 

It just so happened that there’d been a mishap.

A _big_ mishap.

Colonial America, still too young and hotheaded for Tony to effectively control, bolted out of the hall closet the second it was deemed safe to do so.  Tony didn’t blame him; he would have acted the same way if he’d been stuffed into cramped quarters with three empires, two of which had been trying to kill each other when Alfred heard the thumps.  Prussia followed the young colony, still cackling and grinning over the ‘harmless’ prank he’d just pulled on the colony’s older counterpart.  England (why in God’s name did Alfred _not_ talk about how fucking scary the empire had been back then?) stormed out after Prussia, a smirking France drifting out behind him.  It truly was a miracle that the two hadn’t flat out murdered each other in the five to twenty minutes they’d been stuffed in there. 

Yeah…Tony panicked while time traveling… and might have made a few mistakes.  After which his device broke, leaving the five stranded here.

This was going to be a tough one to figure out.

“Where’s Canada?” America suddenly asked, looking around in confusion for his fellow colony.  All four of them were still wearing their Revolutionary uniforms, which mean that Canada, still quiet as ever, as Tony discovered, had to be wearing the icky redcoat.

“I’m over here,” Canada said from where he’d been standing _in plain sight_ as an oblivious Alfred F. Jones walked around the living room.  To be fair though, the living room curtains had helped blend the Canadian in a little.

“Tony, was that me?  Older me?” America suddenly asked, turning to the alien.  The others turned as well, waiting expectantly for Tony’s answer.

 _Yeah,_ Tony thought gloomily, _this is going to be a hard one to explain._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it.
> 
> Thank you everyone for the support! :)
> 
> Hetalia Axis Powers and all related media belong to Hidekaz Himaruya.

**Author's Note:**

> A transfer from Fanfiction.net. This is a kink-meme de-anon, but is rating appropriate.


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